-m 



1 




OverTheSantaielkdl 




ANNOUNCEMENT 



'T^HIS book is wholly devoted to a description of Western 
scenes. 

It is a trustworthy descriptive book of travel, unencumbered 
with statistics or itineraries. It is hoped, however, that a perusal of 
its pages will create a desire to visit the scenes described. The 
reader who wishes to know something specifically about the cost 
and other details of such a journey is respectfully requested to con- 
sult a representative of the Santa Fe System lines. A list of 
Agents is given on reverse side. 

Excursion tickets for the round trip to California over the Santa 
Fe are on sale at all times of the year in principal offices through- 
out the country. The rates are low, and liberal provisions are 
made for stop-overs and final-return limit, allowing ample time for 
a prolonged stay at the many points of interest en route. 

The trains of the Santa Fe are confidently recommended to a 
discriminating traveling public as unsurpassed in the important 
items of speed, safety, and luxurious equipment. The dining-car 
and dining-room service is unrivaled. The employes are uni- 
formly courteous. 

W. J. BLACK, 

Passenger Traffic Manager, 
The Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railway System. 

Chicago, April, 1907. 



SANTA FE TICKET OFFICES. 

PAUL E. ROGERS, Traveling Passenger Agent. 

BAEERSFIELD, Cal S-.S.'StSgg'.ft Jtl^^^^^'"^ ^'*"«^^^^^^-'- 

BEAUMONT. Tex M. B. MUXEN, City Passenger Agent. 

BOSTON, Mass., 332 Washington St S. W. MANNING. General New England Agent 

H. M. FLETCHER, Passenger Agent. 

M. H. GAGE. Traveling Agent. 

.„_„ „ „ H. L. ACKLEY, Traveling Agent. 

BRENHAM, Tex J. G. SLOAN, City Passenger Agent. 

BUFFALO, N. Y.,220 Ellicott Sq. Bldg...CHAS. A. MARSH, Passenger Agent. 
CHICAGO, 111., 105 Adams St GEO. T. GUN NIP, General Agt., Passenger Dent 

F. R. CONNELL, Mgr. Cal Tourist Service. 

CYRUS FALCONER, City Passenger Agent. 
_ ^ . GEO. L. BAKER, Passenger Agent. 

.r,,..T^^-v-,,. .r^^ ^, . Dearborn Station.... J. Q. ADAMS, Depot Passenger Agent. 
CINCINNATI. OMo. 209 Traction Bldg...F. G. BURNETT, General Agent Passenger Dept 
^T T.T, ^TT. r^ CLYDE HILL, Passenger Agent. 

CLEBURNE Tex. ... ,. C; L. CARMEAN, City Passenger Agent. 

CLEVELAND. O.. 318 Williamson Bldg..A. J. KENNEDY, Passenger Agent 
COLORADO SPRINGS, Colo., 118 East {^ l, -irr^^rj, * ' ^''^^^^^*''^ f^®^'^- 

Pike's Peak Ave J C. O. HO YT, City Passenger Agent. 

DALLAS, Tex.. 246 Main St i'.L.OHAS. L. HOLLAND, City Passenger Agent, 

^.^^.,„^„ „ , „«,,„,„ ^ ^ , J- P- WRIGHT, Traveling Passenger Agent. 
DENVER, Colo., 901 17th St., By. Exohg.. . J. P. HALL. General Agent. Passenger Dept. 

JNO. J. SLAVIN, City Passenger Agent. 

W. S. BURDICK, Traveling Passenger Agent. 

N. F. JOHNSON, Traveling Passenger Agent. 
DES MOINES, Iowa, 406 6th Ave., Equitable Bldg. . .SAMUEL LARIMER, Passenger Agent. 

C. A. MOORE, Passenger Agent. 
DETROIT, Mich., 151 Griswold St F. T. HENDRY, General Agent. Passenger Dept. 

J. N. BASTEDO, Passenger Agent. 
EL PASO, Tex., Mills Block W.R.BROWN, Division Passenger Agent. 

J. S. MORRISON, City Ticket Agent. 

W. P. MATCHETTE, Traveling Agent. 

H. M. ERHARD, Traveling Passenger Agent. 

FRESNO. Cal., 1832 Tulare Street R. W. HOBART, General Agent. 

FT. WORTH, Tex., 710 Main St T. P. FENELON, City Passenger Agent. 

Depot H.A.JOHNSON, Ticket Agent. 

GAINESVILLE, Tex B. W. MOORE. City Passenger A gent. 

GALVESTON, Tex., 224 Tremont St MAX NAUMANN, Gen'l Agent, Passenger Dept. 

Depot H. K. ROWLEY, Ticket Agent. 

S. A. KENDIG, Traveling Passenger Agent. 

HANFORD, Cal J. E. DOLD, Agent. 

HOUSTON, Tex., 518 Main St J. R. GREENHILL, City Passenger Agent. 

KANSAS CITY, Mo., 905 Main St GEO. W. HAGENBUCH, Gen'l Agent, Passr Dept. 

T. A. WALCOTT, City Passenger Agent. 

L. F. BACON, Passenger Agent. 
Room?, Union Depot. ..H. U. SHERWOOD, Depot Passenger Acent. 

L. B. SMITH. Traveling Passenger Agent. 

LEAVENWORTH, Kan E. E. HOOK, General Agent. 

LONDON, Eng., 22 Cockspur St., S. W....B. K. DENBIGH, European Traffic Agent. 
LOS ANGELES, Cal., 334 So. Spring St...E. W. McGEE, General Agent Passenger Dept. 

MERCED, Cal E. L. WHEAT LEY, Agent. 

MEXICO CITY. Mex W. S. EARNS WORTH, General Agent. 

MINN KAPOLIS, Minn., 503 Guaranty Blg.C. O. CARPENTER, Passenger Agent. 

MONTREAL, Quebec, 138 St. James St...D. W. HATCH. Traveling Agent. 

NEW ORLEANS, La.. 223 St. Charles' St... A. LANDRY, General Agent. 

NEW YORK CITY, 377 Broadway GEO. 0. DILLARD, General Eastern Pass'rAgt. 

W F. MILLER, City Passenger Agent. 

CLARENCE E. EATON, Traveling Pass'r Agent. 

OAKLAND, Cal., 1112 Broadway J. J. WARNER, General Agent. 

OKLAHOMA CITY. Okla. 6 N. Broadway .THOS. BOYLAN, City Passenger Agent. 

PARIS. Tex WM. BUERGER. City Passenger Agent. 

PEORIA. 111., 325 Main St O. H. THOMAS, Passenger Agent. 

PHILADELPHIA, Pa., 711 Chestnut St.. .OTTO FAAS, Passenger Agent. 

PHOENIX, Ariz W.S. G0LD8W0RTHY, Gen. Agt.S. F. P. & P. Ry. 

PITTSBURG, Pa.. 405 Park Building F. E. SHELLABERGER. Passenger Agent. 

PUEBLO, Colo., 225 North Union Ave 0. G. NIKIRK, City Ticket Agent. 

RIVERSIDE. Cal.. Hotel Glenwood J. H. BAUMAN, Agent. 

SACRAMENTO, Cal., 130 J St W. B. HINOHMAN, General Agent. 

SALT LAKE CITY, Utah, 411 Dooley Blk.O. F. WARREN, General Agent. 

J. J. DEVEREUX, Traveling Agent. 
SAN ANTONIO, Tex.,101 W. Commerce St.H. Y. WILLIAMS, Traveling Passenger Agent. 
SAN BERNARDINO. Cal.. 3d and F Sts.. W. R. DOWLER. General Agent. 

SAN DIEGO. Cal., 1312 C Street E. B. STUART, Agent. 

SAN FRANCISCO, Cal.. 673 Market St....F. W. PRINCE, City Ticket Agent. 

J. B. DUFFY, City Passenger Agent. 
B. F. McDANNELL, Traveling Agent. 

SAN JOSE, Cal., 27 So. First St H. R. STERNE, General Agent. 

SANTA BARBARA. Cal., 818 State St H. B. GREGORY. General Agent. ^ 

ST. JOSEPH, Mo., GOl Edmond St GEO. BUTTERLY, City Passenger Agent. 

ST. LOUIS, Mo., 209 N. 7th St GEO. O. CHAMBERS. Gen'l Agent, Pass. Dept. 

L. B. BANKS, City Passenger Agent. 

F. K. SMITH. Traveling Passenger Agent. 

STOCKTON, Cal W. G. DOZIER, Jr., Agent. 

TEMPLE, Tex R. D. FIELD. City Passenger Agent. 

TOPEKA.Kan W. .T. CURTIS. Passenger Agent. 

RALPH J. KENNEDY, Passenger Agent. 

TORREON. Mex ARTHUR CHERMSIDE, Trav. Passenger Agent. 

TULARE, Cal L. J. HANEY, Agent. 

VTSALIA, Cal E. H. MARSHALL. Agent. 

WICHITA, Kan J. R. MORIARITY, City Passenger Agent. 



TO CALIFORNIA 

Over the Santa Fe Trail 



TO CALIFORNIA 

Over the Santa Fe Trail 
by C. A. Higgins 



Illustrations by 

J. T. McCutcheon, Carl N. Werntz 
& John W. Norton 




Passenger Department, Santa Fe 
Chicago, 1907 



015 

HC3 



Copyright, 1907, 
By W. J. Black, 
Three Hundred and,Twenty-fourth Thousand, 
Revised EditioA. ■ - - * 



U8RARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 
MAY 20 190r 

Cl^SS <^ XXc, No. 
COPY B. . 




Ad. 280 3-13-7 lOM. 



CONTENTS. . 

I. East of. the Rockies . 7 

II. New Mexico 19 

RATON TO LAS VEGAS 27 

LAS VEGAS TO ALBUQUERQUE 30 

SANTA FE 34 

PUEBLOS 38 

III. Arizona 47 

ALBUQUERQUE TO NEEDLES 5 1 

PETRIFIED FORESTS . 55 

MOKIS 59 

CANYON DIABLO .......... 64 

FLAGSTAFF 65 

SAN FRANCISCO PEAKS = 67 

GRAND CANYON OF ARIZONA ........ 7 1 

CLIFF AND CAVE DWELLINGS 8 1 

CENTRAL AND SOUTHERN ARIZONA ...... 83 

IV. Southern California 90 

OF climate ......: 95 

san diego and vicinity io4 

capistrano 114 

story of the missions ii7 

los angeles 125 

pasadena 138 

mount lowe i41 

the kite -shaped track i42 

seaside resorts 151 

santa catalina island ........ i53 

santa barbara 157 

ostrich farming 160 

winter sports 161 

a land of flowers 1 65 

V. Central California ......... i68 

SAN FRANCISCO , . . . 172 

OAKLAND „ .... 183 

SUBURBAN SAN FRANCISCO 185 

A PACIFIC TOUR 1 86 

COAST LINE 190 

YOSEMITE VALLEY .......... I95 



THE OLD SANTA FE TRAIL. 

It wound through strange scarred hills, down canyons lone 

Where wild things screamed, with winds for company ; 

Its milestones were the bones of pioneers. 

Bronzed, haggard men, often with thirst a-moan. 

Lashed on their beasts of burden toward the sea : 

An epic quest it was of elder years, 

For fabled gardens or for good, red gold, 

The trail men strove in iron days of old. 

To-day the steam god thunders through the vast. 
While dominant Saxons from the hurtling trains 
Smile at the aliens, Mexic, Indian, 
Who offer wares, keen-colored, like their past : 
Dread dramas of immitigable plains 
Rebuke the softness of the modern man ; 
No menace, now, the desert's mood of sand ; 
Still westward lies a green and golden land. 

For, at the magic touch of water, blooms 
The wilderness, and where of yore the yoke 
Tortured the toilers into dateless tombs, 
Lo! brightsome fruits to feed a mighty folk. 

— Richard Burton in The Century. 




I. 

EAST OF THE ROCKIES. 

THE California trains of the Santa Fe (except 
the California Fast Mail) leave Chicago 
either in early evening, or at a later hour, vrhen 
most travelers are ready to retire to the seclusion 
of their berths. In either event the earliest stages 
of the journey offer little of interest to the tourist 
aside from the drainage canal, whose white rock- 
debris closely parallels the way for thirty miles. 

The same natural conditions which made the 
Chicago River a favored route for the early explorers 
made possible the creation of this most remarkable 
of civic sanitary undertakings. The low water- 
shed over which Marquette, Joliet, La Salle and 
their fellows dragged light canoes, from the head 
waters of the Chicago River to those flowing south- 
westward to the Mississippi, has been penetrated 
by the great canal. It is literally true, therefore, 
that the current of the Chicago River has been 
diverted from its natural direction into Lake Michi- 
gan, and now flows by way of its source, " uphill." 
The primary incentive for this stupendous under- 




taking was the desire to divert the drainage of the 
city from its outflow into Lake Michigan, where 
it contaminated that noble water supply. Inciden- 
tally, however, as a result of the work, a capacious 
ship channel has been formed, connecting the basin 
of the Great Lakes with the Mississippi River. 

While no commercial advantage has been taken 
of this new trade route as yet, river improvements 
now under way will remove the final obstacle 
to direct navigation between the lakes and the 
great river. This drainage canal is one of those 
rare achievements in which figures tell a dramatic 
story. The total cost of the enterprise from the 
beginning to the end approximates $40,000,000. 
The canal was begun September 3, 1892, and in 
January of 1 900 the water of Lake Michigan was 
turned into it to find a new way to the ocean. 
The length of the main channel is 28.5 miles, the 
depth of water 22 feet, the width from 162 feet to 
290 feet, and the total amount of excavation 42,- 
397>904 cubic yards. The present capacity is 
300,000 cubic feet per minute,' and this flow will 
be materially increased by the river improvements. 

By day the adjacent country appears a level or 
mildly undulating region, rich in agricultural prod- 
ucts, and relieved by bits of stream and woodland 
and by small villages, with here and there a con- 
siderable city, such as Joliet, and Streator and 
Galesburg, and important rivers, such as the Illinois, 
which is crossed near Chillicothe. It is greater 
than the whole of England and Wales, this State 




of Illinois, but a very few hours' ride is sufficient 
to bring one to its western boundary, the Missis- 
sippi River. This*is crossed at Fort Madison on an 
'eight-span drawbridge 1,925 feet long, and the 
way continues across the narrow southeastern 
corner of Iowa into Missouri. While gliding 
through the State last named the traveler awakes 
to the sight of a rolling country of distant 
horizons, swelHng here and there to considerable 
hills, checkered with tilled fields and frequent farm- 
houses, divided by numerous water-courses and 
dense groves of deciduous trees. Not one whose 
scenic features you would travel far to see, but 
gratifying to the eye ; full of gentle contrasts and 
pleasing variety. 

La Plata is the highest point between Chicago 
and Kansas City. Just east of Carrollton the wide 
valley of the tawny Missouri is entered, which 
river the Santa Fe follows to Kansas City. At 
the lofty Sibley bridge (two-fifths of a mile long 
and 135 feet high) across the Missouri River the 
swift sand-laden volume of this famed stream flows 
far below the level of the eye, and there is wide 
outlook upon either hand. On the farther side 
the way skirts bold bluffs for a considerable dis- 
tance by the side of the broad and picturesque 
river that is reminiscent of the d^ys of steamboat 
commerce. Then comes Kansas City. 

There was a time when Kansas City was famed 

almost entirely for its live stock industry, its great 

packing houses, and its grain market. These en- 

9 





terprises have been growing year by year, but they 
no longer dominate the commercial life of this 
metropolis of the Missouri Valley. A great rail- 
way, manufacturing and distributing center, Kansas 
City holds an important place in the business activ- 
ities of the whole Southwest. Its rapid growth 
is uninterrupted, the present population, counting 
that portion over in Kansas, being 300,000. Its 
people are energetic and practical in their civic 
loyalty. The Kansas border lies just beyond, the 
entrance to that State leading by the serpentine 
course of the river of the same name through a 
wooded landscape to the open prairie. 

Kansas City is not the only gateway by which 
the Santa Fe enters Kansas, although it is by this 
route that the transcontinental trains travel. St. 
Joseph, in Missouri, and Atchison and Leavenworth, 
in Kansas, are Missouri River cities, all reached by 
connecting lines of the same system, and all famous 
in the early history of the region. St. Joseph was 
an important point of exchange between the river 
traffic and that of the overland route to Denver 
and the Rocky Mountains. Atchison was the 
initial point of the Santa Fe Railway system itself, 
as originally planned, and gave its name to the 
great railway. Leavenworth was one of the early 
military posts of the great West, and is still known 
as the seat of Fort Leavenworth. All of these are 
flourishing cities, with important local industries. 

The billowy surface of Kansas was once the bed 
of an inland sea that deposited enormous quantities 





of salt, gypsum and marbles, and its rock strata 
abound in most remarkable fossils of colossal animal 
life — elephants, mastodons, camels, rhinoceroses, 
gigantic horses, sharks, crocodiles, and more ancient 
aquatic monsters of extraordinary proportions, fright- 
ful appearance, and appalling name, whose skele- 
tons are preserved in the National Museum. Its 
eastern boundary was along the shore of the most 
stubborn wilderness of our possession. The French 
fur-traders were the first to establish footing of 
civilization in Kansas, the greater portion of which 
came to us as part of the Louisiana purchase. 
More than seventy years ago Fort Leavenworth 
was created to give military protection to the haz- 
ardous trade with Santa Fe, and the great overland 
exodus of Argonauts to California at the time of 
the gold discovery was by way of that border sta- 
tion. The first general settlement of its eastern 
part was in the heat of the factional excitement 
that led to the Civil War. It was the scene of 
bloody encounters between free-soil and pro-slavery 
colonists, and of historic exploits by John Brown 
and the guerrilla Quantrell. In the space of one 
generation it has been transformed as by a miracle. 




Santa Fe Dining 



fTrF 



\ 



■B^^-Mk} iii:? 





Uni'versity of Kai 



The very Lawrence, whose name for years called 
to mind the horrors of the Quantreil raid and the 
massacre of its defenseless citizens, is now the most 
flourishing of peaceful towns, the seat of the Uni- 
versity of Kansas and of the famous Haskell Insti- 
tute, a noteworthily successful school for Indians. 
The vast plains whereon the Indian, antelope 
and buffalo roamed supreme are now counted as 
the second most important agricultural area of the 
Union, and its uncultivated tracts sustain millions 
of cattle, mules and horses. Vigorous young cities 
are seen at frequent intervals. Topeka, with its 
broad avenues and innumerable shade trees, is one 
of the prettiest capitals of the West ; here are the 
general offices and principal shops of the Santa Fe, 
and several imposing State edifices. Between Law- 
rence and Topeka the train passes historic Lecomp- 
ton, the early territorial capital of Kansas — once 
a strenuous pro-slavery stronghold, to-day a quiet 
country village. The neighborhood of Newton 
and Burrton is the home of Mennonites, a Russian 
sect that fled to America from the domain of the 
Czar to find rehef from oppression. Newton was 
in pioneer days a big shipping point on the cattle 
drive from Texas. 




The Capitol, Topeka. 




At Hutchinson (noted for its salt industry) one 
enters western Kansas, and from this point for a 
long distance the road follows the windings of the 
Arkansas River, with only occasional digressions. 
Dodge City, of cowboy fame, and Garden City, 
the scene of Government experiments in agricul- 
ture, are the chief centers of this district. East of 
Great Bend are the ruins of old Fort Zarah. Paw- 
nee Rock, further west, derives its name from a 
high rock north of the Httle station, where many 
fierce Indian battles were fought, and where Gen. 
Hancock, Gen. Robert E. Lee and Kit Carson 
made noteworthy visits. 

Opposite Earned, on an island in the river, a 
fierce battle occurred in 1870 between hostile 
Cheyennes and Arapahoes. 

The Santa Fe trail, mentioned in New Mexico 
chapter, began at Westport (now Kansas City), 
following the Kaw River to Lawrence, thence 
over the hills to Burlingame and Council Grove — 
the Arkansas Valley being reached at Fort Zarah 
(now Great Bend). The trail crept up this valley 
ro Bent's Fort (now Las Animas), and climbed 
the mountains through Raton Pass. There was a 
short cut from Fort Dodge to Las Vegas, along 
the Cimarron River. It is but thirty years since 
Comanches and Pawnees made almost every toil- 
13 




some mile of the slow passage through Kansas 
dangerous for the wagon trains that wound slowly 
across the plains, laden with the traffic for the 
southwest. Except the trains were heavily guarded 
by military escorts, they were subject to frequent 
attacks by day and night. The stories of those 
days make picturesque reading now for the traveler 
who passes by rail swiftly and luxuriously along 
this very pathway. 

Colorado first presents itself as a plateau, ele- 
vated 4,000 feet above the sea, railway and river 
continuing as close neighbors through the gently 
ascending plains. 

The Arkansas Valley, all the way from east of 
Garden City to La Junta and beyond, is in sum- 
mer comparable to a two-hundred-mile-long green 
ribbon stretched loosely across the wide gray prai- 
rie. Its alfalfa fields, melon patches, beet sugar 
acres and thrifty towns are proof that irrigation 
pays, there being a never-failing supply of water 
for these fertile lands. Garden City, Holly, Lamar, 
Las Animas, La Junta and Rocky Ford are the 
centers of this irrigated district, a bit of pastoral 
prosperity in pleasing contrast with the grim and 
forbidding mountains soon to be ventured. 

Six factories have been built for the production 
of sugar from beets — one each at Rocky Ford, 
Lamar, Holly, Swink, Garden City and Sugar City. 
They were erected at a cost of several million dol- 
lars and their daily capacity is about 5,000 tons of 
14 









,v 1 






beets. This convenient market is stimulating the 
raising of sugar beets throughout the whole valley, 
so that the cultivation of the succulent vegetable 
has become one of the most important of local 
industries. 

Four miles w^est of Holly, and consequently just 
over the Colorado line, is the little colony estab- 
lished by the Salvation Army in 1898, under the 
name of Fort Amity. As a measure of practical 
benefit to certain elements in the crow^ded quar- 
ters of the great cities, the Salvation Army 
obtained 1, 800 acres of land here and settled upon 
it 250 colonists. The progress of the colony dur- 
ing its early history seems to promise success for 
the undertaking. 

Passing Las Animas the tourist is again reminded 
of the good old days w^hen Kit Carson made 
Bent's his headquarters, when the Arapahoes, Kio- 
was and Cheyennes wintered at Big Timbers, and 
when Fort William (later known as Fort Lyon) 
afforded security for the frontiersmen in times of 
unusual danger. 

Every mile of progress westward carries the 
traveler into a higher altitude as he approaches the 
junction of the great plains and the foothills of the 
Rockies. Soon the landscape begins to give hint 
of the heroic. Pike's Peak is clearly distinguish- 
able though a hundred miles distant, and the two 
beautiful Spanish Peaks hover upon the horizon 
and reappear long after the first-named has faded 
from view. Slowly the Raton Range gathers sig- 
15 





nificance directly ahead, until it becomes a tower- 
ing wall, at whose foot lies the city of Trinidad. 

Trinidad is the center of large coal, coke, iron 
and wool industries. Here, going west, is the first 
appearance of adobe architecture and Mexican set- 
tlements. Here also begins the final ascent to the 
first of many lofty mountain gateways, the Raton 
Pass. 

Away back in 1540, when that Spanish soldier 
of fortune, Coronado, traveled through the 
Southwest, there was in his small band a brave 
captain, known as Cardenas. It is said that 
Cardenas was the first white man to see the 
Grand Canyon of Arizona. Be that as it may 
his fame is now secure. A new Santa Fe rail- 
way hotel, managed by Fred Harvey, was built 
at Trinidad, Colorado, in the summer of 1903, 
and named the Cardenas. Our doughty war- 
rior's name will now be in everybody's mouth, 
figuratively speaking — that is, everybody who 
goes through Trinidad on the Santa Fe. 

How different the menu, how much softer the 
beds than 367 years ago when Cardenas the 
soldier rode down Raton Pass on his trusty steed 
and camped on the site of Trinidad! The con- 
trast typifies all the great things that have hap- 
pened meanwhile. 

The commodious dining-room of the Cardenas 




Hotel Cardenas, at Trinidad. 



accommodates nearly a hundred guests, and there 
are thirty-seven sleeping apartments. The edifice 
is two stories high, substantially built of brick and 
stone in the impressive old Mission style of archi- 
tecture, similar to the Castaneda, Alvarado and 
Escalante elsewhere described. The hotel is beau- 
tifully furnished throughout, and in the language 
of the advertisement writer, has "all the modern 
conveniences." 

The grade up Raton Pass is remarkably steep, 
and two powerful mountain engines are required 
to haul the train at a pace hardly faster than a 
walk. The vicissitudes of the pass are such that 
the road winds tortuously in curves so sharp the 
wheels shriek at the strain. From the rear vesti- 
bule may be had an endlessly varied and long 
continued series of mountain views, for the ascent 
is no mere matter of a moment. There are level 
side canyons prettily shaded with aspen, long 
straight slopes covered with pine, tumbled waves 
of rock overgrown with chaparral, huge bare cliffs 
with perpendicular gray or brown faces, conical 
coke ovens, with their ghostly smoke wreaths, 
and breaks through which one may look far out 
across the lower levels to other ranges. 

A short distance this side the summit stands 
what is left o. the old toll-house, an abandoned 
and dismantled adobe dwelling, where for many 
years the veteran Dick Wooten collected toll from 
those who used the wagon road through the pass. 
Both ruin and trail are of interest as belonging to 
1 






the ante-railroad period of thrilling adventure, for 
by that road and past the site of the dilapidated 
dwelling journeyed every overland stage, every 
caravan, every prairie schooner, every emigrant, 
and every soldier cavalcade bound to the south- 
western country in early days. 

Bej^ond this is a wide-sweeping curve from 
whose farther side, looking backward down the 
pass, an inspiring picture is unfolded to view for a 
passing instant — a farewell glimpse of the poetic 
Spanish Peaks at the end of a long vista past a 
ragged foreground of gigantic measure. Then the 
hills crowd and shut off the outside world; there 
is a deep sandstone cut, its faces seamed with lay- 
ers of coal, a boundary post marked upon one side 
Colorado and upon the other New Mexico, and 
instantly following that a plunge into a half-mile 
tunnel of midnight blackness, at an elevation of 
something more than 7,600 feet. 

At such a Rubicon the preliminary stages may 
fairly be said to end. 

And here, too, a few words may properly be said 
of the Maxwell Land Grant, a princely domain 
once owned by the American Fur Company, now 
belonging to a foreign syndicate. The Santa Fe 
is built along its eastern edge for sixty miles south 
of Raton Pass. This rich empire of two million 
acres is being occupied by miners, farmers and 
ranchers. 



iS 




^ -.^^r ^r^^i^^^ 



^^:S25^ 








Spanish Peaks. 



II. 



NEW MEXICO. 



ALTHOUGH your introduction is by way of a 
long tunnel, followed by a winding moun- 
tain pass down whose steep incline the train rushes 
to regain the low level from which the journey 
was begun, you will find New Mexico a territory 
in the sky. If its mountain ranges were leveled 
smoothly over its valleys and plains the entire area 
of more than 120,000 square miles would stand 
higher above the sea than the summit of any peak 
of the Catskills or the Adirondacks. Its broad 
upland plains, that stretch to a horizon where 
wintry peaks tower high above the bold salients of 
gray-mottled foothills^ themselves lie at an altitude 
that in the Eastern States must be sought among 
19 





the clouds, and at no time will you fall much below 
an elevation of 5,000 feet in traversing the portion 
of the territory that lies along the present route. 

The landscape is oriental in aspect and flushed 
with color. Nowhere else can you find sky of 
deeper blue, sunlight more dazzling, shadows more 
intense, clouds more luminously white, or stars that 
throb with redder fire. Here the pure rarefied air 
that is associated in the mind with arduous moun- 
tain climbing is the only air known — dry, cool and 
gently stimulating. Through it, as through a crys- 
tal, the rich red of the soil, the green of vegetation, 
and the varied tints of the rocks gleam always 
freshly on the sight. 

You are borne over mountains above forests of 
pine and fir, with transient glimpses of distant 
prairie; through canyons where fierce rock walls 
yield grudging passage and massive gray slopes bend 
downward from the sky ; along level stretches by 
the side of the Great River of the North, whose 
turbid stream is the Nile of the New World; past 
picturesque desert tracts spotted with sage, and 
past mesas, buttes, dead volcanoes and lava beds. 

These last are in a region where you will see 
not only mountain craters, with long basaltic slopes 
that were the ancient flow of molten rock, but 
dikes as well ; fissures in the level plain through 
which the black lava oozed and ran for many miles. 
These vast rivers of rock, cracked, piled, scattered 
in blocks, and in places overgrown with chaparral, 
are full of interest, even to the accustomed eyCc 











They wear an appearance of newness, moreover, 
rs if the volcanic action were of recent date; but 
there has been found nothing in native tradition 
that has any direct bearing upon them. Doubtless 
they are many centuries old. 

Geologically their age is of course determinable, 
but geology deals in rock epochs ; it talks darkly of 
millions of years between events, and in particulars 
is careful to avoid use of the calendar. It is well 
to remember that the yesterday of creation is singu- 
larly barren of mankind. We are practically con- 
temporaries of Adam in the history of the cosmos, 
and all of ancient and modern history that lies 
between is a mere evanescent jumble of trivialities. 
Dame Nature is a crone, fecund though she be, and 
hugging to her breast the precious phial of rejuve- 
nescence. Her face is wTinkled. Her back is bent. 
Innumerable mutations lie heavy upon her, briskly 

21 








though she may plot for to-morrow. And nowhere 
can you find her more haggard and gray than here. 

You feel that this place has always worn much 
the same aspect that it wears to-day. Parcel of 
the arid region, it sleeps only for thirst. Slake 
that, and it becomes a garden of paradise- as by a 
magic word. The present generation has proved 
it true in a hundred localities, where the proximity 
of rivers or mountain streams has made irrigation 
practicable. 

The confines of the Great American Desert are 
narrowing rapidly. Do but reflect that a quarter 
century back the journey you now make in perfect 
comfort was a matter of wild adventure, at cost of 
months of arduous travel and at hazard of life, not 
only because of human foes, but for scarcity of food 
and water. One never appreciates the full stride 
of American progress until he has traversed in a 
Pullman car such a territory as this, where Valley 
of Death and Journey of the Dead are names still 
borne by waterless tracts, and justified by bleached 
bones of cattle and lonely mounds of scattered 
graves. 

Rescued from centuries of horror and planted 
in the front rank of young rising States by the 
genius of our generation. New Mexico is a land of 
broad ranges, where hundreds of thousands of sleek 
cattle and countless flocks of sheep browse upon 
the nutritious grasses ; where fields of grain wave 
in the healthful breeze ; where orchard trees bend 
under their weight of luscious fruits, and where 




the rocks lay bare inexhaustible veins of precious 
metals. 

Here may be found to-day as profitable large 
ranches as any in the country, and innumerable 
small aggregations of cultivated acres, whose owners 
sit comfortably upon shaded verandas while their 
servants till the field. This is the paradox of a 
region w^hose softer scenes wnll often seem to be 
overborne by bleak mountain and desert and lava 
bed; that if you own ten acres of irrigated land 
here you are that much-vaunted but seldom en- 
countered individual, an independent farmer. You 
may smile in a superior way when you hear talk of 
the profits of bank stocks. You may look without 
envy upon the man who is said to own a gold mine. 

Scattered by the way are sleepy Mexican villages, 
ancient Indian pueblos, still inhabited, and those 
older abandoned ruins which give to the region its 
peculiar atmosphere of mystery. The history of 
New Mexico formerly began with a pretty legend 
that dated back to a time in Spain when a sover- 
eign, fighting amid his native mountains, found 
himself hemmed in by the enemy, and would have 
perished with all his army had not one of his enter- 
prising soldiers discovered an unsuspected pass, the 
entrance to which he marked with a bleached 
cow's skull that lay convenient to his hand, and 
then returning led a retreat through the pass to 
safety. By order of the grateful king the family 
name of the soldier was thereupon made Cabeza 
de Vaca — cow's head — to celebrate so opportune a 











service. It is to be hoped he got a doubloon or 
two as well, but on that particular head tradition 
is silent. However, among the soldier's descend- 
ants a talent for discovery became a notorious fam- 
ily trait. It amounted to a passion with them. 
You could not get into any difficulty but a 
Cabeza de Vaca could find you a way out. Natu- 
rally, then, when Narvaez set sail from Spain for 
the Florida coast, three and a half centuries ago, 
he took one of that family along for a mascot. 
The expedition came to grief on the Florida reefs, 
but the mascot survived, and with him three others 
who had wisely clung to him when the ship went 
to pieces. Stranded upon an unknown coast, men- 
aced by hostile Indians, an ocean behind and a 
wilderness before, this Cabeza de Vaca felt his 
heart strangely stirred within him. He gave no 
thought to the dangers of his situation ; he per- 
ceived only that he had the opportunity of a life- 
time to discover something. So, remembering that 
in far Mexico his fellow countrymen were known to 
24 



dwell, he pretended to pull a long face and told his 
companions that to reach the Mexican settlements 
was the only hope of surviving. Then brandishing his 
sword in a becoming manner he called to them to 
come on, and led them across the unexplored con- 
tinent of North America, in tlie year of grace 
1536, by a route which incidentally included w^hat 
is now known as New Mexico. Thus, in sub- 
stance, runs the legend, which adds that he had a 
queer tale to tell, on arrival, of Seven Cities of 
Cibola, and outlandish people of heathen appear- 
ance and notions, but of tempeVate and industrious 
habits withal, and presumably rich in treasures of 
silver and gold ; which incited Coronado to send 
out an expedition under Marcos de Nizza in 1539, 
and a year later himself to take charge of the first 
real invasion, conquering native towns by force of 
arms on his way. 

But in the light of modern historical research 
Cabeza de Vaca's local fame dwindles ; his head 
diminishes. It is denied that he ever saw New 
Mexico, and the title of discoverer is awarded to 
Marcos de Nizza. It does not really matter, for 
in either event the conquest was by Coronado, in 
whose footsteps Spanish colonization was first 
enabled to advance into the territory, which, it 
should be remembered, was for a long time there- 
after a vaguely defined area of much greater extent 
than to-day. The friars early began their work of 
founding missions, and in the course of time estab- 
lished forty churches, attended by some 30,000 
25 





native communicants. These natives revolted in 
1680, and drove the Spaniards out of the territory, 
successfully resisting their return for a period of 
twelve years. From the time of their ultimate 
subjection (1692) the country, grew in population 
and commercial importance until, early in the pres- 
ent century, its trade with Missouri and the East 
became very valuable. The route traversed by 
pack-mules and prairie schooners loaded with mer- 
chandise will forever be remembered as the Santa 
Fe Trail, and was almost identical with that fol- 
lowed by Coronado. 

It is. at present for the greater part of the dis- 
tance the route of the Atchison, Topeka & Santa 
Fe Railway between the Missouri River and Santa 
Fe ; and through western Kansas, southeastern 
Colorado, over the Raton Pass and at many points 
in New Mexico, may easily be seen from the train. 
The distance w^as 800 miles, and a round trip then 
consumed no days.' 

Merchandise to an enormous value was often 
carried by a single caravan. In spite of the pro- 
tection of a strong military escort the trail was 
almost continuously sodden with human blood and 
marked by hundreds of rude graves dug for the 
mutilated victims of murderous Apaches and other 
tribes. Every scene recounted by romances of 
Indian warfare had its counterpart along the Santa 
Fe Trail. The ambush, the surprise, the, mas- 
sacre, the capture, the torture, in terrifying and 
heart-breaking detail, have been enacted over and 
over. 26 




Only with the advent of the railroad did the 
era of peace and security begin. To-day the 
Apache is decimated and harmless, and, with the 
Pueblo Indian and the Mexican, forms a romantic 
background to a thriving Anglo-Saxon civilization. 

It is this background that gives New Mexico its 
peculiar charm to the thoughtful tourist; not alone 
its tremendous mountain ranges, its extensive 
uplands, its fruitful valleys, or its unsurpassed 
equability of climate. Its population includes 9,500 
Pueblo Indians, 4,000 Navajos and 1,350 Apaches. 

RATON TO LAS VEGAS. 

The Culebra and Cimarron ranges of the Rockies 
shut in the lower western sky as the train whirls 
along southward from Raton to Las Vegas. En 
route you pass Springer, whence stages run to the 
Red River mines and to Taos pueblo ; Wagon 
Mound, a former Mexican frontier customhouse and 
a picturesque point on the Santa Fe trail; and Wat- 
rous, at the head of Mora Canyon, near old Fort 
Union. Mora Canyon is fifty miles long, a rather 
modest affair, compared with Apache Canyon and 
the greater gorges of Arizona, but typical of this 
land of deeply cutting streams. 
27 



The little Rio Gallinas issues by a tortuous path 
through rugged, tree-fringed canyon walls from a 
spur of the Rockies half a dozen miles northwest 
from the city of Las Vegas. These vegas or 
meadows gradually broaden until they finally open 
up into the bx'oad New Mexican plain that sweeps 
away toward the southeast. Almost at the verge 
of plain and mountain, the city of Las Vegas has 
grown into prominence. It is the commercial 
metropolis of northern New Mexico, and the second 
city in the Territory in size and importance. Its 
8,000 inhabitants, with the consequent social. life, 
its important wool-shipping interests, and the fact 
that it is the headquarters of the New Mexican 
division of the Santa Fe, may not in themselves be 
things to attract special attention from the traveler. 
But there are other things at Las Vegas. 

First of ^11 for the stranger, there has been 
built a new hotel, so conspicuous in its comfort 
and its attractions as to command attention. The 
XDastaneda it is called, erected a few years ago 
near the depot, and combining the functions of 
a railway dining-room and hotel. It is a long, 
low building two stories high, faced with brick, 
roofed with red tiles, and patterned after 




The Castaneda. 



the old California missions. This hotel is strictly 
modern throughout in equipment and in manage- 
ment. It is under the direction of Fred Harvey, 
whose name stands as a synonym of satisfactory 
hotel management. 

Las Vegas itself, with its large stores, banks, 
offices, hotel, and town life, its attractive climate 
and its accessibility, entertains many a stranger in 
the course of a year, and is steadily growing in 
popularity as a resort. Its surroundings, readily 
visited by strangers, offer varied forms of entertain- 
ment. 

LAS VEGAS TO ALBUQUERQUE. 

Traveling from , Las Vegas to Albuquerque the 
Glorieta range of the Rockies is crossed through 
Glorieta Pass (altitude, 7,453 feet). The upclimb 
takes you near Starvation Peak, best seen from 
Chapelle station. One legend says that a large 
band of Spaniards was surrounded here by Nava- 
jos in 1800 and starved to death; another story 
ascribes the cross on summit to the Brotherhood of 




Pueblo of Taos 







Penitentes. However the name may have origi- 
nated, the peak itself is a prominent landmark. 

Not far from the main line, the head w^aters of 
the Pecos River can be reached — a famous haunt 
of the black-spotted mountain trout. Within ten 
miles of Glorieta there are a number of deep pools, 
which, carefully w^hipped with the proper flies, will 
yield trout weighing up to four pounds. Parties 
wishing to fish in the Pecos can find accommoda- 
tions at Windsor's, twenty miles from Glorieta. 
Every little pool in the Mora River, a tributary of 
the Pecos near this point, seems to be alive w^th 
trout, though the larger fish are more abundant in 
the main stream. Rainbow and eastern brook 
trout are nearly as plentiful as the native varieties — 
a rare combination in objects of the angler's desire. 

The crumbling ruins of old Pecos Church — 
most venerable pile in New Mexico — are four 
miles from Pecos station, on the m3^thical site of 
that Aztec city where IVIontezuma is said to have 
been born. 

The downward ride is through Apache Canyon, 




- ^^/ 




where, in 1847, noted battles were fought between 
Kearney's Army of the West and the Mexicans, 
and in 1862 between Federal and Confederate 
forces. Even here in the mountain solitudes war 
would not be denied its cruel harvest. At Lamy 
(named for the good archbishop) there is a branch 
line to Santa Fe. The main line continues along 
the tortuous Galisteo River to the Rio Grande 
del Norte at Domingo, and down that sluggish 
^tream of the sand-bars to Albuquerque, the com- 
mercial metropolis of central New Mexico. 

Albuquerque, the point of junction of three lines 
of the Santa Fe System — that from the East, that 
to the Pacific Ocean, and that to the Mexican 
boundary — has never been extensively advertised 
as a health resort, though it possesses valid claims 
for being so considered. Its attractions have been 
multiplied by the erection of a splendid new rail- 
way hotel, the Alvarado, conducted, as is the Cas- 
taneda at Las Vegas, by Fred Harvey. As the 
traveler leaves the train, this hotel is his first 
and most enduring impression. A wide-spreading, 
low building, like a great Spanish mission save for 
its newness; rough, gray w^alls, and a far-reaching 
procession of arches ; a red^tiled roof with- many 
towers — this is the Alvarado. It looks out across 
the plain to where purple distant peaks are set 
against a turquoise sky. Behind it lies the city ; 
before it the valley stretches to the shouldering 
hills. The hotel proper is more than a hundred 
yards long, sixty yards wide, and is built around a 
32 



Starvation Peak 



court or peristyle, as its general archi- 
tecture demands. It is connected by a 
two hundred foot arcade with the new 
Santa Fe depot, an edifice in perfect 
harmony with the artistic lines of the 
main structure. In form and color, as 
well as historical association and the detailed beauty 
of its generous plan, the Alvarado is a distinct archi- 
tectural achievement. Inside, the Spanish efiect in 
decoration is thoroughly and consistently observed. 
The dining hall is the largest room in the building. 
Its furnishings, severely elegant in design, contrast 
pleasantly with the snow and glitter of the tables ; a 
great projecting fireplace adds the inevitable cheer 
of an open hearth. But of the hotel, as such, 
nothing need be said except that it is the master- 
piece of the Harvey system; and this fact, to the 
traveler who knows, is all-sufficient. 

It furnishes to the tourist a most luxurious 
stopping-place in the midst of a trans-continental 
journey — an enjoyable and interesting rest on the 
way to California. 

A special attraction which the Alvarado offers, 
not to be duplicated elsewhere, is a very fine 
collection of Indian relics and products gathered 
during years of studious effort. In Moki, Navajo, 
Zuni, Apache, Pima and Mexican treasures of 
handicraft this collection is well nigh unrivaled, 
and more than justifies a halt in the attractive 
hotel which houses it. It is planned to here 
assemble Navajo and Moki weavers, potters 
33 





silversmiths and basketmakers engaged in their 
various crafts. A model of an Indian pueblo is 
shown ; also the finest wares from all the neigh- 
boring region. 

Albuquerque itself lies at an altitude of 4,935 
feet above sea level, on a sunny slope of a broad 
plain, amply protected against sudden storms by the 
neighboring high mountain ranges. The winters 
are generally open and bright, and the atmosphere 
almost wholly devoid of humidity. The ancient 
settlement dates back to the Spanish invasion, 
while the new town, with a population of io,000 
Americans and all the improvements of a young 
city, had its beginning with the advent of the Santa 
Fe Railway. 

But Albuquerque, aside from its life as a new 
commercial center, makes other and more subtle de- 
mands upon the attention ; while not equal to Santa 
Fe as a picture of the past, the years have also 
touched it with old colors. The Mexican quarter 
— the old town — still sleeps in the sun as it did a 
century — two centuries — ago. And all about it 
are the dwellings of the most conservative people, 
the Pueblos of the Rio Grande valley, living as 
their fathers lived before the first invader came. 



SANTA FE. 

In 1605 the Spaniards founded this city under the 
name La C'ludad Real de la Santa Fe de San Fran- 
cisco (the True City of the Holy Faith of St. Francis) , 
. 34 




North Entrances The Alvarado. 



which, like many another ponderous Spanish title, 
has been reduced to lower terms in the lapse of time. 
It occupies a plain rimmed by mountains whose 
peaks tower to heights of 10,000 and 13,000 feet. 
The extraordinary interest of its early days is kept 
alive by monuments which the kindly elements pro- 
tect from the accustomed ravages of the centuries. 
The territorial governor until recently received his 
guests in the same room that served visitors in the 
time of the first viceroy. Nineteen American and 
seventy-six Mexican and Spanish rulers have suc- 
cessively occupied the palace. Here it was that 
General Lew Wallace wrote "Ben Hur." It has 
survived all those strange modulations by which a 
Spanish province has become a territory of the 
Union bordering on statehood. The story of the 
palace stretches back into real antiquity, to a time 
when the Inquisition had power, when zealous 
friars of 'the Order of St. Francis exhorted throngs 
of dimly comprehending heathen, and when the 
mailed warriors of Coronado told marvelous uncon- 
tradicted tales of ogres that were believed to dwell 
in the surrounding wilderness. Beneath its roof are 
garnered priceless treasures of that ancient time, 
which the curious visitor may behold. There are 
faded pictures of saints painted upon puma-skins, 
figures laboriously wrought in wood to shadow 
forth the Nazarene; votive offerings of silver, in the 
likeness of legs, arms and hands, brought to the 
altar of Our Lady by those who had been healed 
of wounds or disease; rude stone gods of the 
35 





heathen, and domestic utensils and implements of 
war. There, too, may be seen ancient rnaps of the 
New World, lettered in Latin and in French, on 
which California appears as an island of the Pacific, 
and the country at large is confidently displayed with 
grotesque inaccuracy. 

Nearly a mile distant from the palace, on an 
eminence overlooking the town, stands the old 
Chapel Rosario, now neighbored by the Ramona 
school for Apache children. In 1692 Diego de 
Vargas, marching up from the south, stood upon 
that hill with his little army of 200 men and looked 
over into the city from which his countrymen 
had been driven with slaughter a dozen years 
before. There he knelt and vowed to build upon 
the spot a chapel for the glorification of Our Lady 
of the Rosary, provided she would fight upon 
his side. 

The town was carried by assault after a des- 
perate contest of eleven hours' duration, and the 
chapel was built. It savors quaintly to us of a less 
poetic age that those royal old adventurers should 
have thought themselves hand and glove with the 
celestial powers; but they certainly made acknowl- 
edgment of services rendered upon occasion. 

There are other places of antiquarian interest, 
where are stored Spanish archives covering two 
and a quarter centuries, and numerous paintings 
and carvings of great age ; the Church of Our 
c-i^/^-^ Lady of Light, the Cathe- 
dral of San Francisco, and 
36 




finally the Church of San Miguel and the Old 
House, isolated from everything that is in touch 
with our century by their location in the heart of 
a decrepit -old Mexican village. Here, at last, is 
the real Santa Fe of the traveler's anticipation ; a 
straggling aggregation of low adobe huts, divided 
by narrow winding lanes, where in the sharply 
defined shadows leathern-faced old men and women 
sit in vacuous idleness and burros loaded with fire- 
wood or garden truck pass to and fro; and in small 
groups of chattering women one catches an occa- 
sional glimpse of bright interrogating eyes and a 
saucy face, in spite of the closely drawn tapelo. 

If now some sturdy figure in bright, clanking 
armor should obligingly pass along, you would 
have an exact picture of the place as it appeared 
two and a half centuries ago. Nothing but that 
figure has departed from the scene, and substan- 
tially nothing new has entered in. It does not 
change. The hurrying activities and transitions of 
the outer world, from which it is separated by only 
a narrow arroyo , count for nothing here. One 
questions if the outline of a shadow has altered for 
generations. The Old House, where Coronado is 
said to have lodged in 1540, and the Church of 
San Miguel, which was sacked in 1680, are not 
distinguishable from their surroundings by any air 
of superior age. All is old, ^^ _^J^^/jj 




a petrifaction of medieval 
human life done in adobe. 



t 



The Old 

Governor's 

Palace. 











03 ^^ 











Molt Pueblo of IFolpi. 

PUEBLOS. 

More than a score of these many- 
chambered communal homes are scat- 
'^/^ tered over New Mexico. Taos, 
r^^'-^ Piciiris, San Juan, Santa Clara, San Ilde- 
fonso, Pojoaque, Nambe and Teseque 
are within twenty to ninety-five miles of Santa 
Fe, their population varying from twenty-five 
to four hundred persons. From Domingo one may 
reach the pueblos of Cochiti,San Domingo and San 
Felipe, while Sandia, Jemez, Zia and Santa Ana are 
in the vicinity of Albuquerque. Few tourists know 
that the Pueblo Indians of New Mexico own 900,000 
acres of land, and that since the treaty of Guadeloupe 
Hidalgo in 1848 they have been full-fledged United 
States citizens, though not voting, and maintaining 
their own forms of government. Three of the most 
important pueblos are Isleta, Laguna, and Acoma. 
Isleta and Laguna are within a stone's throw of the 
railroad, ten miles and sixty-six miles, respectively, 
beyond Albuquerque, and Acoma is reached from 
Laguna or Cubero by a drive of fifteen miles. Meals 
and lodging may be obtained at several places near 
the depot. Team and driver for Acoma costs 
38 







$5-00 for one passenger and $6.00 for two. The 
trip may be made in a day. 

The aboriginal inhabitants of the pueblos, an 
intelligent, complex, industrious and independent 
race, are anomalous among North American natives. 
Many are housed to-day in the self-same structures 
in which their forebears were discovered, and in 
three and a half centuries of contact with Europeans 
their manner of life has not m.aterially changed. 
The Indian tribes that roamed over mountain and 
plain have become wards of the Government. 
But the Pueblo Indian has absolutely maintained 
the integrity of his individuality, self-respecting and 
self-sufScient. The extent to which he has adopted 
the religion of his Spanish conquerers, or the 
teachings of his present guardia.ns, amounts to 
only a slight concession from his persistent con- 
servatism. 

Laborious efforts have been made to penetrate 
the reserve with which the involved inner life of 
this strange child of the desert is guarded, but 
it lies like a vast dark continent behind a dimly 
visible shore, and he dwells within the shadowy 
rim of a night that yields no ray to tell of his 
origin. 



^-^. 






if; 







Pueblo of Zuni. 




He is a true pagan, swathed in seem- 
/i ingly dense clouds of superstition, rich in 
fanciful legend, and profoundly cere- 
monious in religion. His gods are 
innumerable. Not even the ancient Greeks pos- 
sessed a more populous Olympus. On that austere 
yet familiar height gods of peace and of war, of the 
chase, of bountiful harvest and of famine, of sun 
and rain and snow, elbow a thousand others for 
standing-room. The trail of the serpent has 
crossed his history, too, and he frets his pottery 
with an imitation of its scales, and gives the rattle- 
snake a prominent place among his deities. 
Unmistakably a pagan, yet the purity and well- 
being of his communities will bear favorable com- 
parison with those of the enlightened world. He is 
brave, honest and enterprising within the fixed limits 
of his little sphere, his wife is virtuous, his children 
are docile. And were the whole earth swept bare 
40 




of every living thing, save for a few leagues sur- 
rounding his tribal home, his life would show little 
disturbance. Possibly he might not at once learn 
of so unimportant an occurrence. He would still 
alternately labor and relax in festive games, still 
reverence his gods, and rear his children to a life 
of industry and content, so anomalous is he, so 
firmly established in an absolute independence. 

Pueblo architecture possesses nothing of the elab- 
orate ornamentation found in so-called Aztec ruins 
in Mexico. The house is usually built of stone, 
covered with adobe cement, and is severely plain. 
It is commonly two or three stories in height, of 
terrace form, and joined to its neighbors. The 
prevailing entrance is by means of a ladder to the 
roof of the lowest story. 

The most strikingly interestmgof New Mexican 
pueblos is Acoma. It is built upon the summit of 
a table-rock with eroded precipitous sides, 350 feet 
above the plain, which is 7,000 feet above the sea. 

41 







Pueblo of Lagiina. 



Acoma pueblo is i,ooo feet in length and 40 feet 
high, and there is besides a church of enormous 
proportions. Formerl}^ it was reached only by a 
hazardous stairway in the rock, up which the inhab- 
itants carried upon their backs every particle of the 
materials of which the village is constructed; but 
easier pathways now exist. The graveyard con- 
sumed forty years in building, by reason of the 
necessity of bringing earth from the plain below; 
and the church must have cost the labor of many 
generations, for its walls are 60 feet high and 10 
feet thick, and it has timbers 40 feet long and 14 
inches square. 

The Acomas welcomed the soldiers of Coronado 
with deference, ascribing to them celestial origin. 
Subsequently, upon learning the distinctly human 
character of the Spaniards, they professed allegiance, 
but afterward wantonly slew a dozen of Zaldivar's 
men. 

By way of reprisal Zaldivar headed threescore 
soldiers and undertook to carry the sky-citadel by 
42 




assault. After a three days' hand-to-hand struggle 
the Spaniards stood victors upon that seemingly 
impregnable fortress, and received the submission 
of the Queres, who for three-quarters of a century 
thereafter remained tractable. In that interval the 
priest came to Acoma and held footing for fifty 
years, until the bloody uprising of 1680 occurred, 
in which priest, soldier, and settler w^ere massacred 
or driven from the land, and every vestige of their 
occupation w^as extirpated. After the resubjection 
of the natives by Diego de Vargas the present 
church was constructed, and the Pueblos have 
not since rebelled against the contiguity of the 
white man. 

Anciently, according to a native tradition, for 
which Mr. C. F. Lummis is authority, the original 
pueblo of Acoma stood upon the crest of the 
Enchanted Mesa, 430 feet above the valley, three 
miles away, but its only approach was one 
day destroyed by the falling of a clifi, and 
three sick women, who chanced to be the 
only occupants — the remainder of the popu- 
lation being at work in the fields below — 
perished there, beyond reach of aid from 
their people, who then built a new pueblo 
on the present site. 

In 1897 ^^ Eastern college professor laid 
siege to the Mesa Encaniada with a mortar 
and several miles of assorted ropes, supple- 
mented by pulleys, a boatswain's chair, and a 





team of horses. By these aids the summit was 
reached, but the party reported that nothing was 
found to indicate that it had ever been visited 
before by man. 

A few weeks later, Dr. F. W. Hodge, of the 
Bureau of Ethnology, made the ascent with several 
companions, aided by a few short ladders, a guide 
rope, and experience in mountaineering. This 
party found a number of potsherds and fragments 
of implements and ornaments, all of ancient type, 
and vigorously championed the claim that the mesa 
was once inhabited. 

Afterward another party, including Mr. Lummis, 
Dr. David Starr Jordan, and Prof. T. H. Hittell, 
similarly ascended and were similarly rewarded. 
The adherents of the legend assert that the gnaw- 
ing tooth of centuries of summer storm and winter 
frost w^ould inevitably denude the summit of every 
relic of that olden time save such as have been 
securely pocketed in crevices instead of washing 
away. The talus of the mesa abounds in ancient 
potsherds, and the rapid annual rise of rock detritus 
at the foot of the cliit not only lends corroboration 




Tu rquoise- drilling. 



but shows how recently the mesa has ceased to be' 
unscalable. Even so, it will be long before the 
casual tourist will aspire to its giddy crest. 

Laguna ("the lake") was founded in 1699 by 
refugees from Acoma, Zuni, and Cochiti, on a high 
rock near the San Jose River. Its old Spanish 
mission name was San Josef de la Laguna. Several 
great battles were fought here with the Navajos 
and Apaches. The Laguna Indians also occupy 
tributary villages, such as Paquate, Negra, Encinal, 
and Casa Blanca. 




46 



ig,-.^>. 



III. 



ARIZONA. 



THE portion to be traversed is a land of pro- 
digious mountain terraces, extensive plateaus, 
profound canyons, and flat, arid plains, dotted with 
gardens of fruits and flowers, patched with vast 
tracts of pine timber, and veined with precious 
stones and metals, alternating with desolate beds 
of lava, bald mountainous cones of black and red 
volcanic cinder, grass-carpeted parks, uncouth vege- 
table growths of the desert, and bleak rock spires, 
above all which w^hite peaks gleam radiantly in 
almost perpetual sunlight. The long-time residents 
of this region are unable to shake off its charm, 
even when no longer compelled by any other con- 
sideration to remain. Its frequent wide stretches 
of rugged horizon exert a fascination no less pow- 
erful than that of arduous mountain fastnesses or 
the secret shadows of the dense forest. 

There is the same dignity of Nature, the same 
mystery, potent even upon those who can least 
define its thrall. 

47 




Miners confess to it, and herdsmen. To the 
traveler it will appear a novel environment for con- 
temporaneous American life, this land of sage and 
mesquite, of frowning volcanic piles, shadowed can- 
yons, lofty mesas and painted buttes. It seems 
fitter for some cyclopean race; for the pterodactyl 
and the behemoth. Its cliffs are flung in broad, 
sinuous lines that approach and recede from the 
way, their contour incessantly shifting in the simil- 
itude of caverns, corridors, pyramids, monuments, 
and a thousand other forms so full of structural idea 
that they seem to be the unfinished work of some 
giant architect who had planned more than he 
could execute. 

The altitude is practically the same as that of the 
route through New Mexico, undulating between 
5,000 and 7,000 feet above sea-level, until on the 
western border the high plateaus break rapidly down 
to an elevation of less than 500 feet at the valley 
of a broad and capricious stream that flows through 
alternate stretches of rich alluvial meadow and 
barren rock-spires — obelisks rising against the sky. 
This stream is the Colorado River, wayward, 
strenuous, and possessed of creative imagination and 
terrific energy when the mood is on. It chiseled 
the Grand Canyon, far to the north and east, and 
now complacently saunters oceanward. Despite 
its quiet air, not long ago it conceived the whim 
to make a Salton Sea far to the south, and the 
affair was a national sensation for many months. 

The great cantilever bridge that spans it here (one 



of* the largest of its kind in the world) was made 
necessary by the restless spirit of the intractable 
stream. The main suspended span is 66o feet in 
length and the cantilever arms each 165 feet; the 
cost was half a million dollars. Only a few years 
ago the crossing was by means of a huge pile bridge 
several miles toward the north ; but the river shifted 
its channel so frequently it was thought desirable to 
build a new bridge down here among the enduring 
obelisks, which are known as The Needles. It is 
a picturesque spot, full of color, and the air has a 
pure transparency that lends depth and distance to 
the view, such as the bird knows in its flight. 

The Needles form the head of the gorgeously 
beautiful Mojave Canyon, hidden from view. The 
Colorado is an inveterate lover of a chaotic chan- 
nel. 

It is its genius to create works of art on a scale 
to awe the spirit of cataclysm itself. It is a true 
Hellespont, issuing from Cimmerian gloom to loiter 
among sunny fields, which it periodically waters 
with a fertilizing flood ; and while you follow its 
gentle sweep it breaks into sudden uproar and hews 
a further path of desolation and sublimity. One 
who does not know the canyons of the Colorado 
has never experienced the full exaltation of those 
impersonal emotions to which the Arts are 
addressed. There only are audience-halls fit for 
tragedies of /Eschylus, for Dante and the Sagas. 

The known history of Arizona begins with the 
same Mark of Nice whom we have already 





accredited as the discoverer of New Mexico, of 
which this Territory was long a part : and here, as 
well, he was followed by Coronado and the mis- 
sionaries. This is the true home of the Apache, 
whose unsparing warfare repeatedly destroyed the 
work of early Spanish civilization and won the land 
back for a time to heathenesse. Its complete acqui- 
sition by the United States dates from 1853, and 
in the early days of the Civil War it was again 
devastated. 

After its successful reoccupation by California 
troops in l862, settlers began to penetrate its 
northern portion. Nearly twenty years later the 
first railroad spanned its boundaries, and then 
finally it became a tenable home for the Saxon, 
although the well-remembered outbreak of Gero- 
nimo occurred only two decades ago. To-day the 
war-thirsty Apaches are widely scattered among dis- 
tant reservations, and with them has departed the 
last existing element of disturbance. But Arizona 
will never lose its peculiar atmosphere of extreme 
antiquity, for in addition to those overwhelming 
chasms that have lain unchanged since the infancy 
of the world, it contains within its borders the 
ruins of once populous cities, maintained by an enor-^ 
mous irrigation system which our modern science 
has not yet outdone ; whose history was not writ- 
ten upon any lasting scroll ; whose peoples are 
classed among the undecipherable antiquities of our 
continent, their deeds unsung, their heroes unchron- 
icled and unknown. 



50 



Yet, if you have a chord for the heroic, hardly 
shall you find another land so invigorating as this 
of Arizona. It stiffens the mental fiber like a whiff 
of the north wind. It stirs in the blood dim echoes 
of days when achievement lay in the might of the 
individual arm ; when sword met targe in exhilara- 
ting struggles for supremacy. The super-refinement 
of cities dissipates here. There is a tonic breeze 
that blows toward simple relations and a lusty self- 
hood. 

ALBUQUERQUE TO NEEDLES. 

The Santa Fe, in traversing western New Mex- 
ico and Arizona, climbs the Continental Divide 
from Albuquerque (altitude 4,935 feet) to Guam 
(altitude 6,996 feet), a distance of 136 miles, along 
the interesting valleys of the Puerco and San Jose. 
There follows a downhill slide of 150 miles to 
Winslow (altitude 4,343 feet) beside the Puerco 
and Little Colorado rivers. The engine then puffs 
up grade for many miles through fragrant pine for- 
ests to a point just beyond Flagstaff, There is a 
slight down grade to Ash Fork (altitude 5,129 
feet), another rise of twenty-seven miles to Selig- 
man (altitude 5,260 feet), and then the train 
easily drops down a 150-mile incline to Needles, 
the descent being nearly a mile, almost to sea- 
level. You would scarcely notice the difference at 
any given point, unless by comparison with track 
behind or ahead. 



y'^ 




The principal scenes en route will be briefly 
noted, without attempting adequate description. 

Isleta, "little island," is a picturesque pueblo in 
the Rio Grande Valley, occupied by six hundred 
Indians who own flocks, cultivate vineyards and 
work in silver. Laguna is mentioned elsewhere. 
Cubero is a quiet Mexican village, three miles 
from the station, where quaint ceremonies — 
brought from Old Mexico — still hold sway; the 
San Mateo Mountains are on the north from 
Cubero to Grant's. Northeast of McCarty's is 
Acomita, an ofifshoot of Acoma pueblo. Lava beds 
are seen, McCarty's to beyond Bluewater. The 
Zuni Mountains are southwest of Grant's station; 
San Rafael is on the road thither in a beautiful 
valley; here, also at Cubero and San Rafael, the 
strange rites of the Penitentes are performed: 
southward are the pictured mesa fronts visible as 
far as Gallup. 

There is a low cone north of Bluewater called 
Tintero, meaning inkstand, whence lava once pro- 
fusely flowed. The station of Chaves is named 
for a noted Indian fighter of early days. From 
Thoreau, three miles east of Continental Divide, 
various interesting canyons and Indian pueblos may 
be reached, notably Pueblo Bonito, whose ancient 
ruins cover seven acres, one building containing a 
thousand rooms. 

Between Guam and Wingate are Navajo Church 
and Pyramid Rock. Inscription Rock is fifty miles 
southeast of Wingate. The southern border of 
52 





A Navajo Weaver 



the Navajo reservation is ten to fifty miles north 
of the railway in northeastern Arizona. The 
Navajos frequently visit Wingate, Canyon Diablo 
and intermediate stations. They are a pastoral 
people, progressive, intelligent and self-supporting. 
They own large numbers of cattle, sheep and 
goats, till small farms, make the celebrated Navajo 
blankets, and are expert silversmiths. 

Thirty-five miles south of Zufii Station, on Zuni 
River, is the pueblo of Zuiii, inhabited by a thou- 
sand Indians, made famous through the wTitings 
of an energetic ethnologist, Mr. Frank Gushing, 
who lived in the pueblo for four years, first as a 
welcome guest and then as a member of the tribe. 
The Zunis have always been an imperious people. 
53 





Their history prior to the Spanish occupation indi- 
cates that they were at that time the dominant 
Puehlos. The Zuni ceremonial dances are of 
world-wide renown. Gallup is the best point of 
departure for Zuni village. The trip is a com- 
fortable carriage ride of six hours each way, over 
good roads and through impressive scenery. Ex- 
penses are about five dollars per day for each 
person. Room and board, at Zuni, can be ob- 
tained at the house of the resident trader. 

Canyon de Chelly lies fifty miles north of Man- 
uelito. Adamana and Holbrook are points of 
departure for Petrified Forest. Holbrook is the 
railroad station for Fort Apache; several Indian 
villages and interior Mormon settlements. The 
Painted Desert and Moki buttes north of Wins- 
low, and the Mogollon Mountains south, are 
prominent features of the landscape ; the old Con- 
tinental stage route, a continuation of the Santa 
Fe Trail, passed through Winslow. Canyon Diablo, 
Flagstaff, Williams and Ash Fork are referred to 
further on. 

The Hualapai and Havasupai Indian agency is 
reached from Tinnaka. The Hualapai mainly live 
at near-by stations, or act as herders ; the Havasu- 
pais reside in Cataract Canyon, a tributary of the 
Grand Canyon. 




%«l 




PETRIFIED FORESTS. 

From remotest epochs earth has striven against 
the encroaching slime of seas in a wasting struggle 
to free her face to air. Those who are learned 
may tell you where she is left most deeply scarred 
by the conflict, but in this region where her 
triumph, if barren, is complete, and the last 
straggling columns of her routed foe are sourly 
retreating oceanward, at least her wounds are 
bare, and with them many a strange record which 
she thought to lock forever in her bosom. Long 
ere Noah fell adrift with the heterogeneous com- 
pany of the ark, or Adam was, perhaps even before 
the ancestral ape first stood erect in the posture of 
men that were to be, forests werfe growing in Ari- 
zona, just as in some parts they grow to-day. And 
it befell in the course of time that they lay pros- 
trate and over them swept the waters of an inland 
sea. 




Eons passed, and sands like drifting snowHakes 
buried them so deep the plesiosaurus never sus- 
pected their grave beneath him as he basked his 
monstrous length in the tropic w^aters and hungrily 
watched the pterodactjd lolling in the palm-shade 
on the rim. Then the sea vanished, the uncouth 
denizens of its deeps and shores became extinct, 
and craters belched forth volcanic spume to spread 
a further mantle of oblivion over the past. Yet 
somewhere the chain of life remained unbroken, 
and as fast as there came dust for worm to burrow 
in, mould for seed to sprout in, and leaf for insect 
to feed on, life crept back in multiplying forms, 
only to retreat again before the surge of ele- 
mental strife after a century or after a thousand 
years. 

The precise sequence of local events as here 
sketched must not be too critically scanned. The 
aim is to suggest an approximate notion, to those 
who possess no better, of some prodigious happen- 
ings which have a bearing on our immediate 
theme. If still one chance to lack a working idea, 
let him remember that the solid surface of the 
earth is ceaselessly changing contour, that it act- 
ually billows like the open sea. It merely moves 
more slowly, for if the gradual upheavals and 
depressions of the earth's crust throughout millions 
of years were performed within the brief span of 
an hour, you would have the wildest conceivable 
spectacle of cold rock strata become as fluctuant 
as water, and leaping and falling in waves whose 
56 



crests towered miles in air, and whose lengths were 
measurable by half a continent. This region for 
hundreds of square miles was once sunk so low 
the ocean overflowed it ; then upheaved so high 
the brine could find no footing. Again a partial 
depression made it a vast repository of rivers that 
drained the higher levels, which in time was 
expelled by a further upheaval. During the peri- 
ods of subsidence the incoming waters deposited 
sand and silt, which time hardened to rock. But 
in periods of upheaval the process was reversed and 
the outgoing waters gnawed the mass and labored 
constantly to bear it away. 

So, to return to our long-buried forest, some 
10,000 feet of rock was deposited over it, and sub- 
sequently eroded clean away. And when these 
ancient logs were uncovered, and, like so many Van 
Winkles, they awoke — but from a sleep many 
thousand times longer — to the sight of a world 
that had forgotten them, lo! the sybaritic chemistry 
of nature had transformed them every one into 
chalcedony, topaz, onyx, carnelian, agate and ame- 
thyst. 

Thousands of acres are thickly strewn with 
trunks and segments of trunks, and covered with 
chiplike fragments. There are several separated 
tracts, any one of which will seem to the aston- 
ished beholder an inexhaustible store of gems, 
measurable by no smaller phrase 
than millions of tons ; a profusion 
of splinters, limbs and logs, every 
57 




Apache Canyon'. 



fragment of which as it Hes would adorn the col- 
lector's cabinet, and, polished by the lapidary, might 
embellish a crown. Some of these prostrate trees 
of stone are over 200 feet in length and seven to 
ten feet in diameter, although they are most fre- 
quently broken into sections by transverse fracture. 

One of these huge trunks, its integrity still spared 
by time, spans a canyon fifty feet wide — a bridge 
of jasper and agate overhanging a tree-fringed 
pool. 

Mr. John Muir, the noted California naturalist, 
says of the North Sigillaria Forest (discovered by 
him in 1906) that the many finely preserved Sigil- 
laria, Lepidodendron and Dadozylon trees here, with 
their peculiar roots and leaf -marks, show plainly 
that in this place flourished one of the noblest 
forests of the Carboniferous period. The trees 
grew where they now lie, instead of drifting in 
from elsewhere, and there are many standing stumps 
visible. 

The forest covers many thousands of acres, in 
five separate tracts. 

The First Forest is distant six miles from Ada- 
mana, being the one most frequently visited. It 
contains the notable natural log bridge. The 
Second Forest is three miles south of the first one 
and is smaller. The Third Forest lies thirteen 
miles southwest of Adamana ; it is the largest and 
has the most unbroken tree trunks of great size. 
The Blue Forest is seven miles southeast and the 
North Sigillaria Forest is nine miles north; the pre- 
ss 



ISO ^;>o. 



vailing color of the former is a beautiful 
nemophilia blue; the latter is famed for its 
basin, the north wall of which is sculp- 
tured like the Grand Canyon. The general 
characteristics of these different tracts are 
the same. One may also reach the Third 
Forest from Holbrook; distance eighteen 
miles. Round-trip livery fare from either 
point is $4.00 to $5.00 for one person and 
$2.50 each for two or more persons. Mr. 
Al. Stevenson conducts a small hotel at 
Adamana; rate $2. 50 a day. There are also 
good hotel accommodations at Holbroo 
MOKIS. 

The Moki pueblos are seven in number: Orai- 
bi, Shungopavi, Shipaulovi, Mishongnovi, Wolpi, 
Sichomovi and Tewa (also called Hano). They 
are embraced in a locality less than thirty miles 
across, and are the citadels of a region which the 
discovering Spaniards in the sixteenth century 
named "the Province of Tusayan. They are not 
to be confounded with the "Seven Cities of 
Cibola," whose site is now known to be Zuni, 
in New Mexico. They are reached by a pleasant 
two days' wagon journey northward from Canyon 
Diablo, Holbrook or Winslow, and by a longer route 
through pine forests from Gallup in New 
Mexico, at an expense of from $5 to $7 a day. 

The peculiar attractions which they offer to 
students of primitive community and pagan 
ceremonies, as well as to the artist seeking 
59 






,-4 






MOKl HAIR DRESSING, 



strange subjects, or the casual traveler hoping to find 
a new sensation, are acting to draw an increasing 
number of visitors every year at the time of their 
rehgious festivities. This increasing interest has 
resulted in improving the means of access without 
in any degree modifying the conditions of the 
villages themselves or the Moki ceremonies. The 
latter half of August is the time of the most spec- 
tacular fiestas, and at that season a wagon journey 
from the railway to the Province of Tusayan, with 
the consequent camp life on the road and at the 
pueblos, need be no hardship. 

There are no tourist's accommodations at the 
villages except such few rooms or houses as can be 
rented from the Mokis at reasonable rates. Provi- 
sions and such household comforts as the traveler 
considers indispensable must be brought in. The 
roads and trails lie across the almost level Painted 
Desert, which, except in the Little Colorado Val- 
ley and around a few springs or wells, has scant 
vegetation. The soil is sandy or rocky, and in 
August the weather is warm. The altitude, aver- 
aging 6,000 feet, insures cool nights, and the 
absence of humidity forbids that the daytime heat 
should be oppressive. Even if the pueblos as an 
objective did not exist, a voyage into that country 
of extinct volcanoes and strangely sculp- 
tured and tinted rock-masses would be well 
worth the making. Aside from the 
powerful charm exerted by this region 
upon all visitors, there is an invigorat- 
61 







^i-]Wi>-''^-^*^J ing tonic quality in the pure air of Arizona that 
i^aiji f .&- '' ^^ better than medicine. 

Like Acoma, the Moki pueblos are perched 
on the crests of lofty mesas, and at, the first 
were well nigh inaccessible to enemies, their only 
*" approach being by way of narrow, precipitous 
<^^^ ' foot trails. In modern times less difficult paths 
jri[\^ have been constructed, such fortress homes 
being no longer needful for defense. But the 
conservative Mokis continue to live as lived their 
forbears and cling to their high dwelling place. 
The women toil up the trails with water from 
the spring below, and the men returning from 
the fields climb a small mountain's height daily. 
They are industrious, thrifty, orderly and mirth- 
ful, and are probably the best entertained people 
in the world. A round of ceremonies, each 
terminating in the pageants called "dances," 
keeps going pretty continuously the whole year, 
and all the spectacles are free. Subsisting almost 
wholly by agriculture in an arid region of uncertain 
crops, they find abundant time between their labors 
for lighthearted dance and song, and for elaborate 
ceremonials, which are grotesque in the Kachina, 
or masked dances, ideally poetic in the Flute dance, 
and intensely dramatic in the Snake dance. 




Of the last two, both of which are drama- 
tized prayers for rain at an appointed season, the 
former is picturesque in costume and ritual, and 
impressive in solemn beauty; the latter is grim and 
startling, reptiles — including a liberal proportion of 
rattlesnakes — being employed as messengers to 
carry petitions to the gods of the underworld, who 
are supposed to have power over the rain cloud. 

To the onlooker it seems impossible that venom- 
ous snakes can be handled so audaciously without 
inflicting deadly wounds, yet it is positively known 
that they are in no wise deprived of their natural 
power to do so. There are those who claim to 
have seen the dancers bitten by their rattlesnake 
partners, but the claim lacks confirmation by care- 
ful scientific observers, who incline to the belief that 
the snake priests avoid injury by dexterity and a 
knowledge of reptile ways. It is true that the 
priests possess a secret antidote, to which they 
resort in cases of snakebite, w^hich occasionally 
befalls the barefoot natives, but even in the land of 
the snake dance such casualties are uncommon and 
the efficacy of the antidote remains a matter for 
investigation. That the dancers are some- 
times bitten is pretty well established, but the 
observer may not have distinguished the harm- 
less from the venomous snakes, which are 
intermingled, and the JVIokis are reticent to 
subsequent inquiry, 

Mok'i is a nixrkname. It is said to signify 
■'dead," and to have been applied at a time -^_^' 
63 






of devastation by smallpox, that gift of civilized 
man to the savage. Among themselves they are 
known as Hopi, *'good (or peaceful) people." It 
is to be regretted that a name so much worthier 
these friendly and interesting aborigines cannot be 
restored to current usage. 

The Mokis are hospitable to all respectful visit- 
ors, and they may be visited at any time of the 
year except in midwinter, although the season of 
the religious feasts made famous by the snake dance 
is the time of the greatest attraction. 

Extended mention of the Mokis and their cus- 
toms, with ample illustration, will be found in a 
separate publication, ''Indians of the Southwest.'" 



CANYON DIABLO. 




This is a profound gash in the plateau, some 225 
feet deep, 550 feet wide, and many miles long. It 
has the appearance of a volcanic rent in the earth's 
crust, wedge-shaped, and terraced in bare dun rock 
down to the thread of a stream that trickles 
through the notch. It is one of those inconsequent 
things which Arizona is fond of displaying. For 
many miles you are bowled over a perfectly level 
plain, and w^ithout any preparation whatever, save 
only to slacken its pace, the train crosses the chasm 
by a spider-wxb bridge, 225 feet high and 
600 feet long, and then speeds again over 



A 



the self-same placid expanse. 
In the darkness of night one 
might unsuspectingly step off 
into its void, it is so entirely 
unlocked for. Yet, remark- 
able as is the Canyon Diablo, 
in comparison with those 
grand gorges hereafter to be 
mentioned it is worth little 
better than an* idle glance. 

Several miles southeast of Canyon Diablo is a 
remarkable place called Aleteorite Mountain, where 
it is supposed that a colossal sky-wanderer once 
fell. The craterlike cavity marking its crash into 
the earth is a mile wide. Large fragments of 
meteoric stone have been found near by containing 
small diamonds. 

Mr. F. W. Volz, Indian trader here, is prepared 
to take visitors to the Moki villages and Meteorite 
Mountain at anytime. His facilities are unusually 
good and charges reasonable. 




FLAGSTAFF. 

Although the construction of the railway from 
Williams to the verge of the Grand Canyon of 
Arizona has removed from Flagstaiif the distinction 
of being the gateway to that greatest wonder of 




Canyon Diablo 




the world, Flagstaff is itself pictorial in character 
and rich in interest. From it one finds access to 
most remarkable ancient ruins and to one of the 
most practicable and delightful of our great 
mountains. It stands upon a clearing in an exten- 
sive pine forest that here covers the plateau and 
clothes the mountains nearly to their peaks; 
although the word park better describes this sunlit, 
grass-carpeted expanse of widely set, towering pines, 
where cattle graze and the horseman may gallop 
at will. Couched at the foot of a noble mountain 
that doffs its cap of snow for only a few weeks of 
the year, and environed by vast resources of mate- 
rial wealth in addition to the picturesque and his- 
torical features of its surroundings, it is fortunately 
located. 

The extraordinarily pure atmosphere of this ele- 
vated region and the predominance of clear weather 
gave Flagstaff the Lowell Observatory. It is 
charmingly situated in the heart of the pines, upon 
a hill in the outskirts of the town. Visitors are 
made welcome. 










Flagsti 





-tT 



T^^if'/r-ir: 



SAN FRANCISCO PEAKS. 

Here, as in many other parts of the West, the 
actual height of a mountain is greater than is appar- 
ent to the eye. The ascent begins at a point 
considerably above where the Eastern mountain 
climber leaves off, for the reason that the whole 
region is itself a prodigious mountain, hundreds of 
thousands of square miles in area, of which the 
projecting peaks are but exalted lookouts. The 
summits of San Francisco Peaks are elevated 
nearly 13,000 feet above the sea, and only 6,000 
feet above the town of Flagstaff. It follows that 
more than half of the actual ascent has been made 
without any effort by the traveler, and the same 
altitude is attained as if he had climbed a sheer 
height of 13,000 feet upon the rim of the sea. 
There is the same rarefaction of air, the same wide 
range over an empire that lies flat beneath the eye, 
limited only by the interposition of other mountains, 
the spherical contour of the earth, atmospheric 
haze, or the power of vision itself. 







^^a-72 



#; *t 




The apex of Humphrey's Peak, the only summit 
of this rhountain yet practicable for the tourist, is 
little more than ten miles from Flagstaff, and an 
excellent carriage road covers fully seven miles of 
the distance. From the end of that road a com- 
fortable bridle-path leads to within a few feet of the 
topmost crag. The entire trip may be made on 
horseback if desired, and one who is accustomed to 
the saddle will find it a preferable experience, for 
then short cuts are taken through the timber, and 
there is so much the more of freedom and the charm 
of an untrammeled forest. The road crosses a 
short stretch of clearing and then enters the magnifi- 
cent pine park, rising at an easy grade and offering 
frequent backward glimpses. The strained, con- 
scious severity of the Rocky Mountain giants is 
wanting here. It is a mountain without egotism, 
breathing gentlest dignity, and frankly fond of its 
robe of verdure. Birds flit and carol in its treetops, 
and squirrels play. Grass and fern do not fear to 
make soft-cushioned banks to allure the visitor, 
flowers riot in their season, and the aspens have 
whole hillsides to themselves; soft, twinkling bow- 
ers of delicate green, dells where one could wish to. 
lie and dream through long summer hours. The 
bridle-path begins, with the conventional zig-zag of 
mountain-trails, at the foot of a steep grass-grown 
terrace that lies in full view of the spreading pano- 
rama below. Above that sunny girdle the trail 
winds through a more typical mountain forest, 
where dead stalks of pine and fir are plentifully 
68 




sprinkled among the living, and ugly swaths show 
where the avalanche has passed. Above this, for 
the remaining few hundred feet, the peaks stand 
bare — stern, swart crags that brook no mantle 
except the snows, encompassed by a quiet which 
only the wind redeems from everlasting silence. 

The outlook from Humphrey's Peak is one of the 
noblest of mountain views. It commands a recog- 
nizable territory of not less than seventy-five thou- 
sand square miles, with vague, shadowy contours 
beyond the circle of definite vision. Categorically, 
as pointed out by the guide, the main features of 
the landscape are as follows : Directly north, the 
farther wall of the Grand Canyon, at the Bright 
Angel amphitheater, fifty miles away; and topping 
that, the Buckskin Mountains of the Kaibab Pla- 
teau, thirty or forty miles farther distant. To the 
right, the Navajo Mountains, near the Colorado 
state line, 200 miles. In the northeast, the won- 
derful Painted Desert, tinted with rainbow-hues, 
and the Navajo Reservation. Below that the Moki 
buttes and villages. Tow^ard the east, the broad 
plateau and desert as far as the divide near Navajo 
Springs, 130 miles east from Flagstaff by the rail- 
road. In the southeast the White Mountains, 
more than 200 miles. In the south, successively, the 
Mogollon Plateau, a group of a dozen lakes — 
unlooked-for sight in the arid lands — Baker's Butte, 
the Four Peaks, and the Superstition Mountains 
near Phoenix, the last named 160 miles distant. In 
the southwest, the Bradshaw Mountains, 140 miles ; 
69 






Granite Mountain at Prescott, lOO miles, and the 
Juniper Range, 150 miles. The horizon directly 
west is vague and doubtful, but is supposed to lie 
near the California line. In the northwest a dis- 
tant range is seen, north of the Colorado River and 
east of the Nevada line, perhaps the Sheavwits or 
the Hurricane Mountains. Among the less remote 
objects are the Coconino forest and basin on the 
north ; on the east the Little Colorado, traceable 
by its fringe of cottonwoods, beds of lava flung like 
the shadow of a cloud or the trail of a conflagra- 
tion, and Sunset and Peachblow craters, black cones 
of cinder capped with red scoria ; on the south and 
southwest Oak Creek Canyon, the Jerome smel- 
ters, and the rugged pictorial breakdown of the 
Verde ; under foot. Flagstaff; and on the west the 
peaks of Bill Williams, Sitgreaves and Kendricks, 
neighborly near. 

Yet, in spite of the grandeur of such a scene, 
San Francisco Peak itself soon gains and monopo- 
lizes the attention. It has slopes that bend in a 
single sweeping curve to depths which the brain 
reels to contemplate, down which a loosened stone 
will spin until the eye can no longer distinguish 
its course ; and there are huge folds and preci- 
pices and abysses of which no hint was given in 
the ascent. Perhaps its most attractive single fea- 
ture is a profound bowl-shaped cavity 
between Humphrey's and Agassiz Peaks, 
overhung by strangely sculptured cliffs 
that have the appearance of ruined 



•^^^--%^-'c- -. ^.j-' 



castle walls perforated with rude doorways, 
windows and loopholes. It is called The Crater, 
and is almost completely boxed in by steep but 
uniform slopes of volcanic dust, in descending 
which a horse sinks to his fetlocks. On one side 
it breaks down into a canyon leading off to the 
plain and set with tree, grass, fern and flower. Its 
axis is marked by two parallel lines of bare bowl- 
ders of great size, that might have been thrown up 
from the underlying rock by some prodigious ebul- 
lition of internal forces. 

The round trip to the peak is customarily accom- 
plished in a day, but arrangements may be made to 
remain upon the mountain over night if determined 
upon in advance, and such a plan is recommended 
to those who are reasonably hardy and have never 
seen the glories of sunset and sunrise from a 
mountain-height. 

GRAND CANYON OF ARIZONA. 

The series of tremendous chasms which form the 
channel of the Colorado River in its course through 
northern Arizona reach their culmination in a cha- 
otic gorge 217 miles long, nine to thirteen miles wide, 
and, midway, more than 6,000 feet below the level 
of the plateau. Standing upon the brink of that 
plateau, at the point of the canyon's greatest ys^idth 
and depth, the beholder is confronted by a scene 
whose majesty and beauty are well nigh unbearable. 

Snatched in a single instant glance from every 
accustomed anchorage of human experience, the 
7^ 



stoutest heart here quavers, the senses cower. It 
is one of the few advertised spots which one need 
not fear approaching with anticipations too exalted. 
It is a new world, compelHng the tribute of sensa- 
tions whose intensity, exceeds the famihar signifi- 
cation of words. It never has been adequately 
described, and never will be. If you say of Niaga- 
ra's gorge that it is profound, what shall you say 
of the Colorado's chasm that yawns beneath your 
feet to a depth nearly fifty times greater? If you 
have looked down from the height of the Eififel 
tower and called it vertiginous, what shall you say 
when you are brought to the verge of a gulf at 
points of which you may drop a plummet five 
times as far? And when you face, not a mere nar- 
row frowning gash of incredible depth, but a broad 
under-world that reaches to the uttermost horizon 
and seems as vast as the earth itself ; studded with 
innumerable pyramidal mountains of massive bulk 
hewn from gaudiest rock-strata, that barely lift 
the cones and turrets of their crests to the level of 
the eye ; divided by purple voids ; banded in vivid 
colors of transparent brilliancy that are harmonized 
by atmosphere and refraction to a marvelous deli- 
cacy; controlled by a unity of idea that redeems 
the whole from the menace of overwhelming 
chaos — then, surely, 5^ou may be pardoned if your 
pen halts. Some of the best descriptive writers 
have prepared accounts of this wonderful gorge and 
its surroundings. Major Powell, Captain Button, 



72 




G. Wharton James, and others, have written 
magnificent volumes on this theme, and there are 
graceful pages devoted to the subject in the book 
and magazine writings of such men as Charles 
Dudley Warner, C. F. Lummis, Joaquin Miller and 
Hamlin Garland. It has been sympathetically 
painted by the great landscape artist, Thomas 
Moran, and men like Stoddard, Holmes, Alonsen 
and Brigham have portrayed its grandeur on the 
lecture platform. 

A special publication devoted to the Grand 
Canyon of Arizona is issued by the Santa Fe, which 
contains articles by some of these and various other 
eminent writers who have visited the canyon. It 
treats the subject descriptively, historically and 
scientifically, and may be had for a nominal price 
upon apphcation to any agent of the Santa Fe. A 
few paragraphs therefrom are here inserted : 

"An inferno, swathed in soft celestial fires; a 
whole chaotic under-world, just emptied of pri- 
meval floods and waiting for a new creative word ; 
a boding, terrible thing, unflinchingly real, yet 
spectral as a dream, eluding all sense of perspective 
or dimension, outstretching the faculty of measure- 
ment, overlapping the confines of definite appre- 
hension. The beholder is at first unimpressed by 
any detail ; he is overv/helmed by the ensemble of a 
stupendous panorama, a thousand square miles in 
extent, that lies wholly beneath the eye, as if he 
stood upon a mountain peak instead of the level 
brink of a fearful chasm in the plateau w^hose 
73 



opposite shore is thirteen miles away. A labyrinth 
of huge architectural forms, endlessly varied in 
design, fretted with ornamental devices, festooned 
with lacelike webs formed of talus from the upper 
clifi[s and painted with every color known to the 
palette in pure transparent tones of marvelous deli- 
cacy. Never was picture more harmonious, never 
flower more exquisitely beautiful. It flashes instant 
communication of all that architecture and paint- 
ing and music for a thousand years have gropingly 
striven to express. It is the soul of Michael Angelo 
and of Beethoven." 

The panorama is the real overmastering charm. 
It is never twice the same. Although you think 
you have spelt out every temple and peak and 
escarpment, as the angle of sunlight changes there 
begins a ghostly advance of colossal forms from the 
farther side, and what you had taken to be the 
ultimate wall is seen to be made up of still other 
isolated sculptures, revealed now for the first time 
by silhouetting shadows. The scene incessantly 
changes, flushing and fading, advancing into crys- 
talline clearness, retiring into slumberous haze." 

Long may the visitor loiter upon the rim, pow- 
erless to shake loose from the charm, tirelessly 
intent upon the silent transformations until the 
sun is low in the west. Then the canyon sinks 
into mysterious purple shadow, the far Shinumo 
Altar is tipped with a golden ray, and against a 
leaden horizon the long line of the Echo Cliffs 



75 





reflects a soft brilliance of indescribable beauty, a 
light that, elsewhere, surely never was on sea or 
land. Then darkness falls, and should there be a 
moon, the scene in part revives in silver light, a 
thousand spectral forms projected from inscrutable 
gloom ; dreams of mountains, as in their sleep they 
brood on things eternal." 

Fortunately the way to the canyon is now easy. 
Instead of the old route from Flagstaff, a two days' 
'stage journey twice a week, in summer only, the 
tourist can now make the trip in three hours by 
rail any day in the year. 

Travelers holding through tickets who wish to 
visit the canyon are granted stop-overs at Williams, 
a town of 1,500 inhabitants, noted for its extensive 
lumber interests. The branch, Williams to the can- 
yon, is sixty-four miles long. Two daily trains each 
make the round trip in six hours. A fine Harvey 
depot hotel will be built here this year. 

There is usually ample time at Williams, between 
trains, for the ascent of Bill Williams Mountain, 
which rises near the town to a height of 9,000 feet. 
Tourists will find the trip thoroughly enjoyable. 
It can be made in five hours on horseback in perfect 
safety. The trail is an easy one, first leading 
through a gently sloping path of pines, then steeply 
up to the wind-swept summit alongside a pretty 
stream bordered by thickets of quaking aspens. 
Chimney Rock, with its eagle's nest, is a noteworthy 



76 




THE RIVER, FOOT OF BRIGHT ANGEL TRAIL. 



rock formation. On the summit is buried the his- 
toric pioneer scout, Bill Williams. From his rest- 
ing place there is a wide outlook. 

While the Grand Canyon may be reached by 
private conveyance from Flagstaff, in open w^eather, 
the main travel is by way of Williams. The railway 
terminus at Bright Angel is in the middle of the 
granite gorge district. From there one may reach 
by carriage the eastern and western ends thereof, 
at Grand View and Bass's, where tourists will find 
picturesque hotels, good trail stock and guides. 
Cataract Canyon, rock-fortress home of the Supaf 
Indians, lies still further west. 

Grand View Hotel has been recently improved 
by the erection of a new building with forty guest 
rooms, steam heat and other modern conveniences. 

A quarter-of-a-million-dollar hotel, "ElTovar" 
— named for Pedro de Tovar, one of the oflRcers 
who accompanied Coronado's expedition through 
Arizona in 1540 — was opened at Bright Angel in 
January, 1905, under management of Mr. Fred 
Harvey. 

El Tovar is a long, low, rambling, rustic edifice, 
solidly built of native boulders and pine logs. It 
contains more than a hundred sleeping-rooms wnth 
accommodations for nearly 300 guests. All the lux- 
uries are provided, such as electric light, steam heat, 
hot and cold water, room telephones, baths, private 
dining-rooms, a solarium, roof gardens and music. 
The furniture is of arts and crafts design. The inside 
finish is mainly peeled slabs, wood in the rough 
79 





and tinted plaster, with here and there huge wooden 
beams — for all the world like a big country club 
house. Pure spring water is brought from a great 
distance. The public dining-room is a notable 
attraction. The in-door entertainment of guests is a 
special feature. 

High -class and adequate accommodations for 
Grand Canyon travel are thus assured. To accom- 
modate those desiring less expensive quarters, Bright 
Angel Camp — old Bright Angel Hotel remodeled — 
has been opened as an adjunct to El Tovar under 
Harvey management, on European plan. Rooms, 
in cottage or tent, 75 cents a day, each person; 
meals at cafe. The service here is clean, whole- 
some and comfortable. 

Adjacent is a unique structure occupied by Moki 
Indians, who here engage in their curious handi- 
crafts. In this building are also installed several 
costly Harvey Indian blanket and basket collections 
— prize-winners at the St. Louis World's Fair. 
Near by are several hogans^ w^here a number of 
Navajos live. The most expert basket-weavers and 
pottery-makers in America are found here. 

Fine views of the north wall and river may be 
obtained from near-by points. The horseback jour- 
ney down the trail to the Colorado River and back 
is a novel experience. To fairly see the Grand 
^ Canyon in this vicinity, one should plan 
to stay at least four days; a week would 
be better. In a month one might see 
. .^.*& ' ^^g greater part of the accessible area 
bordering the principal trails. 



In Cataract Canyon. 



CLIFF AND CAVE DWELLINGS. 

This region abounds in ruins of the dwelHngs of 
a prehistoric people. The most important lie within 
a radius of eight miles from Flagstafif. On the 
southeast, Walnut Canyon breaks the plateau for a 
distance of several miles, its walls deeply eroded in 
horizontal lines. In these recesses, floored and 
roofed by the more enduring strata, the clif^ dwell- 
ings are found in great number, walled up on the 
front and sides with rock fragments and cement, 
and partitioned into compartments. Some have 
fallen into decay, only portions of their walls 
remaining, and but a narrow shelf of the once 
broad floor of solid rock left to evidence their 
extreme antiquity. Others are almost wholly intact, 
having stubbornly resisted the weathering of time. 
Nothing but fragments of pottery now remain of 
the many quaint implements and trinkets that 
characterized these dwellings at the time of their 
discovery. 

Fixed like swallows' nests upon the face of a 
precipice, approachable from above or below only 
by deliberate and cautious climbing, these dwell- 
ings have the appearance of fortified retreats rather 
than habitual abodes. That there was a time, in 
the remote past, when warlike peoples of mysteri- 
ous origin passed southward over this plateau, is 
generally credited. And the existence of the cliff- 




dwellings is ascribed to the exigencies of that dark 
period, when the inhabitants of the plateau, unable 
to cope with the superior energy, intelligence and 
numbers of the descending hordes, devised these 
unassailable retreats. All their quaintness and 
antiquity can not conceal the deep pathos of their 
being, for tragedy is written all over these poor 
hovels hung between earth and sky. Their build- 
ers hold no smallest niche in recorded history. 
Their aspirations, their struggles and their fate are 
all unwritten, save on these crumbling stones, 
which are their sole monument and meager epi- 
taph. Here once they dwelt. They left no other 
print on time. 

At an equal distance to the north of FlagstafiF, 
among the cinder-buried cones, is one whose sum- 
mit commands a wide-sweeping view of the plain. 
Upon its apex, in the innumerable spout-holes that 
were the outlet of ancient eruptions, are the cave- 
dwellings, around many of which rude stone walls 
still stand. The story of these habitations is Hke- 
wise wholly conjectural. They may have been 
contemporary with the cliff dwellings. That they 
were long inhabited is clearly apparent. Frag- 
ments of shattered pottery lie on every hand. 





5^^ 1^*5! ^"^"^ P?§1^^^^ ,^^^*Sm^ ESSi«^sM<?v , 




Hotel Escalante, Ash Fork, Ariz. 



CENTRAL AND SOUTHERN ARIZONA. 

From Ash Fork, the Santa Fe, Prescott & Phoenix 
Railway (a Santa Fe Hne) extends southward 
through Prescott to Phoenix in the Salt River 
Valley. In a distance of about 200 miles the 
traveler is afforded glimpses of nearly every variety 
of scenery typical of the Territory. There are 
bleak, barren mountains, and mountains covered 
with forests of pine or cedar, on whose slopes are 
seen the dumps of world-famous mines. 

There are rocky desert wastes where only 
uncouth cacti find footing to give some poor sem- 
blance of life and hope, and vast arid stretches 
which in early spring are overspread with flowers, 
among which the poppy predominates and by virtue 
of its superior size and brilliancy carpets the ground 
with an almost unbroken sheet of tawny flame, far 
as the eye can reach on either hand. There are 
waterless canyons, and canyons walling turbid 
streams, unreclaimed vales dotted with cattle, and 
broad irrigated valley-plains level as a floor, where 
is cultivated in extraordinary profusion nearly every 
variety of fruit, nut and vegetable, not absolutely 
restricted to the tropics, in addition to an enor- 
mous acreage of alfalfa and the ordinary cereals of 
the north temperate zone. 

Were it not that modern tourists are somewhat 
blase with respect to landscape w^onders, and if 
Arizona did not seem so far off, so out of the world. 




i 

Prescott. 



it would be as much a fad to visit Point of Rocks 
(once an Apache stronghold), near Prescott, as to 
see the Garden of the Gods. The first-named is 
a more striking bit of rock grotesquerie and fash- 
ioned in more titanic form. 

Ash Fork, instead of merely being as heretofore a 
railroad junction, now makes a strong bid for tour- 
ist patronage. A large new $150,000 Fred Harvey 
depot hotel, the Escalante, has been opened there. 
Wise travelers arrange to stop over at Ash Fork, 
en route to the Salt River Valley, and "rest up." 

This hotel was named after one of the Spaniards 
of the Conquest, Padre Francisco Silvestre Velez 
Escalante, a pioneer Franciscan priest, who jour- 
neyed through this country in 1776. 

Hotel Escalante is of steel and concrete fireproof 
construction, built with wide shady verandas in the 
fascinating Old Mission style. Here one may find 
all the luxuries of the metropolis — hot and cold 
water, baths, steam heat, telephones and electric 
light. 

The pretty curio building near by contains ex- 
amples of the best Indian and Mexican handicraft. 
It is a very pleasant place in which to while away 
an idle hour. 

Going south, one naturally expects warmer 
weather. Nevertheless it comes as a surprise to 
note how abrupt is the transition from bleak winter 
to budding spring, or from spring to full midsum- 
mer, by merely taking the half-day journey from 
Ash Fork to Phoenix. There is not only an 



^: m- 



■iVIHiH' 






advance into sunland, but a drop toward sea-level 
of 4,500 feet. In one stretch of fourteen miles the 
descent is nearly two thousand feet. 

En route you reach Hassayampa River, near 
Wickenberg — of which stream it is affirmed that 
whoever drinks of its waters wnll never afterward 
tell the truth, have a dollar, nor leave Arizona; a 
statement which can be better credited after becom- 
ing acquainted with a certain type of Arizona 
frontiersman. If he tells you that within a few 
miles of this unreliable place is the reliable Vulture 
Mine, a $20,000,000 producer, the tradition will 
err, for the Vulture story is true. 

Both north and south of Prescott some pretty 
engineering problems have been solved by rock-cuts, 
trestles, detours, and loops. At Cedar Glade is a 
steel bridge 650 feet long, spanning Hell Canyon, 
170 feet above the dry stream bed. Here in a 
gorge uptilted rock-pillars and tremendous bowlders 
lying shoulder to shoulder contest the passage ; 
yonder, on a slope, you may see far below a second 
parallel track, and below that a third forming a 
sweeping loop by which the safe descent of the 
train is accomplished and the ascent of the opposite 
side made possible. The way is now cautiously 
over volcanic beds and rock terraces; then daringly 
along the sheer faces of forbidding cliffs ; and again 
with a rush and swing freely across level plains. 

The developed agricultural and horticultural areas 
are in the neighborhood of Phoenix, the territorial 
capital and chief city of Salt River 
Valley. The climate is especially 
friendly to invalids, even during 









the hot summer months, but as in the case of other 
Southwestern health and pleasure resorts, winter 
brings the influx of visitors. The beneficent efifect 
of this chmate upon the sick, or upon those who 
merely seek an enjoyable retreat from the harsh 
winter of the North and East, is not easily exag- 
gerated. The soft air has a tonic quality. 

Low humidity, perpetual sunshine and favorable 
breezes tempt the invalid out of doors and prolong 
life. Whitelaw Reid writes that nowhere has he 
seen a purer atmosphere. It reminds him of the 
Great Sahara and Mount Sinai's deserts. He con- 
siders southern Arizona as drier than Morocco, 
Algiers or Tunis, and more sunshiny than Egypt. 
Pulmonary and throat diseases are benefited to a 
degree that borders on the miraculous. 

The construction of Hotel Adams gave to Phoenix 
a caravansary of which older and more populous com- 
munities might well be proud. Its prompt pros- 
perity induced the erection of other modern hotels. 

In the foothills of the Bradshaw Mountains, 
2,000 feet above sea-level, and a four hours' drive 
from Hot Springs Junction, midway between Pres- 
cott and Phoenix, is Castle Hot Springs, a high- 
class winter resort which offers the many joys of 
life in the open from Fall until late Spring. There 
is an excellent hotel here and medicinal hot springs. 
Consumptives are not received. 

In addition to a full complement 

of hotels, sanatoriums and hospi- 

'^ tals, a feature is made of " tenting 



IV i 




out 



PJucnix. 
in the open desert all winter, to get full 



benefit of sun, air and country quiet. But Phoenix 
is not wholly a refuge for the sick. It is a busy 
city of 15,000 inhabitants, mainly composed of 
strenuous Americans, where merchants thrive and 
wealth accumulates. For the fashionable visitors 
and the '* idle born" there are provided golf 
grounds, palm-shaded drives, clubs, theaters, the 
ease of well-kept inns, and a delightful social life. 
Many wealthy Easterners stay in Phoenix at least 
a part of each winter. 

Strangers will be interested in the Pim.a and Mari- 
copa Indians, who live near the city and who are 
daily seen on its streets disposing of baskets, bead- 
work, pottery and mesquite. They and their 
burros add to the gayety of nations. To observe 
the wholly up-to-date youthful Indian it is only 
necessary to wheel out through the suburbs to 
the second largest Indian Industrial School in the 
United States. 

The valley, of which Phoenix is the center, is 
one of marvelous loveliness, which only the 
painter's art can convey to one who has not 




Ifti 







*^l-. 



Hotel Adams. Phcenix. 



beheld it. Of the valleys of the West, there are 
four pre-eminent in beauty — the San Gabriel and 
Santa Clara in California, the valley of Salt Lake 
in Utah, and this of the Salt River in Arizona. 
Across the restful and infinitely modulated green of 
orchard and shade trees, of alfalfa and barley fields, 
of orange groves and palms, the eye is led to a dis- 
tant horizon of rugged mountains, where shifting 
light and shadow make an endless play of color, 
astonishingly vivid to a traveler new to desert land- 
scapes, and unceasingly attractive day after day. 

It is for this Salt River Valley that the United 
States Government, with the assistance of the people 
to be benefited, is constructing the Tonto Basin 
Reservoir Dam, one of the largest irrigating projects 
in the world, which will place under certain irrigation 
additional land of exceeding fertility and will make 
desirable farm homes for intending settlers. The 
earth here lies full-faced to the sun, as level as a calm 
sea, widening to twenty miles and extending east 
and west nearly a hundred. The sandy soil produces 
abundantly. On a few acres one may make a fair 
living. The result of this happy combination of 
salubrious climate, fertile soil, commercial activity 
and congenial society, is to make Phoenix a pecul- 
iarly favored place for the traveler's attention. 

Prescott is a lively town of 5,000 population, its 

busmess district newly built from the ashes of a 

destructive fire in 1900. Up in 

the high hills, a mile above the 

sea, what wonder that the summers 







are cool ! Prescott's growth largely depends upon 
the mineral wealth that is being coaxed out of the 
reluctant Arizona mountains — a substantial basis of 
prosperity. The city is also a summer resort for those 
who wish to escape the heat of the low-lying val- 
leys. Here is located historic Fort Whipple, the 
frontier post so frequently referred to in Captain 
Charles King's novels. That peak, rising 9,000 
feet skyward, is Granite Mountain; you would 
hardly guess it is all of twelve miles away. 

The greatest mineral development is in the vicin- 
ity of Prescott. Here, among other famous depos- 
its, are the United Verde copper mines and the 
Congress and Rich Hill gold mines, the last named 
situated upon an isolated summit, where, in early 
days, gold was literally whittled from the rock 
with knives and chisels. The branch lines 
from Prescott to Crown King have made easy 
of access the rich gold and copper mines of 
that flourishing district. Congress, four miles 
from the junction, is a model mining town. 
The United Verde copper 
mine is at Jerome, which f^'^'' 

place is reached by a crooked '""T^i; 
narrow-gauge line built 
through a wild country. 





^^/' 



i,rtts^"^'" 



IV. 



SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA. 

A FEW miles beyond the Colorado River cross- 
^ ^ ing at Needles is the railroad station of that 
name, where the remnant of the once powerful 
and warlike Mojave tribe, now become beggarly 
hangers-on to civilization, love to congregate and 
offer inferior wares in the shape of bows and 
arrows and pottery trinkets to travelers in exchange 
for coin. Their hovels are scattered along the way- 
side, and the eager congregation of women ped- 
dlers, some with naked babies sitting stoically astride 
their hips-, and all dubiously picturesque in paint and 
rags, is sufficiently diverting. The men attain gigan- 
tic stature, and are famed for their speed and bot- 
tom as runners ; but their ability might be fairly taxed 
by the tourist of average capacity who for any cause 
felt himself in any danger of being compelled to 
90 



share their abode or mingle intimately with them. 
A sound-heeled Achilles would fall behind in pur- 
suit of the fleer from such a sorry fate. 

River boats occasionally ply between the Gulf of 
California and Needles. The town is a division 
point on the Santa Fe, and parties outfit here for 
the mines roundabout. 

But this is California, the much-lauded land of 
fruit and flower and sunny clime, of mountain and 
shore and sea-girt isle; land of paradoxes, where 
winter is the season of bloom and fruitage and sum- 
mer is nature's time of slumber. The traveler 
enters it for the first time with a vivid preconception 
of its splendors. 

As an introduction to Southern California you 
are borne across the most sterile portion of the 
most hopeless waste in America, v/hose monotony 
intercepts every approach to California except that 
roundabout one by way of the sea. On either 
hand lies a drear stretch of sand and alkali, relieved 
only by black patches of lava and a mountainous 
horizon — a Nubian desert unmarked by a single 
human habitation outside the lonely path of the 
locomotive, where not even the cry of a wolf breaks 
the grim silence of desolation. Through this the 
train hastens to a more elevated country, arid still, 
but reheved by rugged rocks, the esthetic gnarled 
trunks and bolls of the yucca and occasional growths 
of deciduous trees. Craters of extinct volcanoes 
form interesting landmarks, and there are a num- 
ber of rich mining districts tributary to the line, 
91 




but unseen from the train. A strange river, the 
Mojave, keeps company with the track for several 
miles, flowing gently northward, to finally lose 
itself in thirsty sands. At Hesperia are vineyards — 
first hint of the paradise just over the range. 

The Santa Ana and San Gabriel Valleys of 
Southern California are entered through the Cajon 
Pass. It is the loveliest imaginable scene, a gently 
billowing mountain flank densely set with thickets 
of manzanita, gleaming through whose glossy foliage 
and red stems the pale earth rises here and there in 
graceful dunes of white unflecked by grass or shrub, 
overhung by parallel-terraced ridges of the San Ber- 
nardino Mountains, that pale in turn to a topmost 
height far in the blue Italian sky. Entirely want- 
ing in the austerity that characterizes the grander 
mountains of loftier altitudes, it takes you from the 
keeping of plateau and desert, and by seductive 
windings leads you down to the garden of California. 
In the descent from thesummit(altitude 3819 feet) a 
drop of 2,700 feet is made in twenty-five miles. On 
reaching San Bernardino typical scenes at once 
appear. On either hand are seen orchards of the 
peach, apricot, prune, olive, fig, almond, walnut, 
and that always eagerly anticipated one of the 
orange. 

You will not, however, find this whole land a 
jungle of orange and palm trees, parted only by thick 
banks of flowers. The world is wide, even in 
California, or, one might better say, particularly in 
California, where over an area averaging 150 miles 




wide and i,ooo miles long is scattered a population 
less than that of the city of Chicago. It is 
true that in many places along your route you may 
almost pluck oranges by reaching from the car 
window in passing; but the celebrated products of 
California he in restricted areas of cultivation, which 
you are expected to visit; and herein lies much of 
the Cahfornian's pride, that there still remains so 
much of opportunity for all. There is everything 
in California that has been credited to it, but v^^hat 
proves not uncommonly a surprise is the relatively 
small area of improved land and the consequent 
frequency of unfructed intervals. Only a moment's 
reflection is needed to perceive that the case could 
not be otherwise. As for flowers, even here they 
are not eternal, except in the thousands of watered 
gardens. In the dry summer season the hills turn 
brown and sleep. Only when the winter rains have 
slaked the parched earth do the grass and flowers 
awake, and then for a few months there is enough 
of bloom and fragrance to satisfy the most exuber- 
ant fancy. 

Now past pretty horticultural communities, 
flanked by the Sierra Madre, the way leads quickly 
from San Bernardino to Pasadena and Los Angeles. 




f-# 



Southward from the last-named city you pass 
through a fruitful region, and within a stone's throw 
of the impressive mission-ruins of Capistrano, to a 
shore where the long waves of the Pacific break 
upon gleaming white sands and the air is of the 
sea. Blue as the sky is the Pacific, paling in the 
shallows toward land, and flecked with bright or 
somber cloud reflections and smurring ripples of the 
breeze. It is not only the westerly bound of the 
North American continent, it is the South Seas of 
old adventure, where many a hulk of once treasure- 
laden galleons lies fathoms deep among the queer 
denizens of the sea who repeat wild legends of 
naughty buccaneers. There is challenge to the 
imagination in the very tracklessness of the sea. 
On the wrinkled face of earth you may read earth's 
story. She has laid things to heart. She broods 
on memories. But the sea denies the past; it is as 
heedless of events that were as the air is of the 
path Vvdiere yesterday a butterfly was winging. Its 
incontinent expanse is alluring to the fancy, and 
this sunset sea even more than the tempestuous 
ocean that beats upon our eastern shores, for it is 
so lately become our possession it seems still a 
foreign thing, strewn with almost as many wrecks 
of Spanish hopes as of galleons; and into its broad 
bosom the sun sinks to rise upon quaint anti- 
podean peoples, beyond a thousand mysterious 
inhabited islands in the swirls of the equatorial 
currents. 



94 



Next, swinging inland to find the pass of the 
last intervening hills, you make a final descent to 
the water's edge, and come to San Diego, that 
dreamy city of Mediterranean atmosphere and 
color, terraced along the rim of a sheltered bay of 
surpassing beauty. Guarding the mouth of the 
harbor lies the long crescent peninsular of Coro- 
nado, the pale fagades of whose mammoth hotel 
flash through tropical vegetation across the blue 
intervening waters. 

OF CLIMATE. 



Here the sun habitually shines. Near the coast 
flows the broad equable Japanese ocean-current, 
from which a tempered breeze sweeps overland 
every morning, every night to return from the cool 
mountain-tops. Between the first of May and 
the last of October rain almost never falls. By the 
end of June the earth has evaporated most of its 
surface moisture, and vegetation unsustained by 
artificial watering begins to languish. The mid- 
day temperature now rises, but the same breeze 
swings like a pendulum between ocean and moun- 
tain, and night and early morning are no less invig- 




orating. This is summer, a joyous and active sea- 
son generally misconceived by the tourist, who not 
unreasonably visits California in the vi^inter-time 
to escape Northern cold and snow, and infers an 
unendurable torrid summer from a winter of mild- 
ness and luxuriance. 

With November the first showers generally 
begin, followed by an occasional heavy downpour, 
and Northern pastures now whiten under falling 
snow hardly faster than do these sere hills turn 
beryl-green. The rainy season is so called not 
because it is characterized by continuous rainfall, 
but to distinguish it from that portion of the year 
in which rain can not be looked for. Bright days 
are still the rule, and showery days are marked by 
transcendent beauties of earth and sky, fleeting 
wonders of form and color. Let the morning open 
with a murky zenith, dark tumbled cloud-masses, 
dropping showers. As the invisible sun mounts, he 
peeps unexpectedly through a rift to see that his 
world is safe, then vanishes. The sky has an unre- 
lenting look. 

The dim, guardian mountains are obscured. Sud- 
denly, far to the left, a rift breaks dazzling white, 
just short of where the rain is falling on the hills 
in a long bending column, and at one side a broad 
patch pales into mottled gray ; and below the rift a 
light mist is seen floating on the flank of a moun- 
tain that shoots into sharp relief against a vapor- 
wall of slate. At the mountain's foot a whole 
hillside shows in warm brown tint, its right edge 
96 



merged in a low flat cloud of silver, born, you 
could aver, on the instant, from which the trun- 
cated base of a second mountain depends, blue as 
indigo. The face of earth, washed newly, is a 
patchwork of somber and gaudy transparent colors 
— yellows, greens, sepias, grays. One's range and 
clearness of vision are quickly expanded, as when a 
telescope is fitted to the eye. Now begins a won- 
derful shifting of light and shadow, peeps through 
a curtain that veils unbearable splendors of upper 
sky ; gradual dissolutions of cloud into curls and 
twists and splashes, with filling of blue between. 
Again the sun appears, at first with a pale bur- 
nished light, flashing and fading irresolutely until 
at length it flames out with summer ardor. The 
clouds break into still more curious forms, into pic- 
tures and images of quaint device, and outside a 
wide circle of brilliant sunlight all the hills are in 
purple shadow, fading into steel-blue, and about 
their crests cling wisps of many-colored fleece. 
Here and there a distant peak is blackly hooded, 
or gleams subtly behind an intervening shower — a 




thin transparent wash of smoky hue. The veil 
quickly dissipates, and at the same instant the peak 
is robbed of its sunlight by billows of vapor that 
marshal in appalling magnificence. Then the rain- 
mist advances and hides the whole from view. A 
strip of green next flashes on the sight, a distant 
field lighted by the sun, but lying unaccountably 
beneath a cloud of black. Beyond, the broad foot 
of a rainbow winks and disappears. Among all the 
hilltops rain next begins to fall like amber smoke, 
so thin is the veil that shields them frorh the sun. 

Then the sun abruptly ceases to shine, the whole 
heavens are overcast, and between the fine fast-fall- 
ing drops the ground gleams wet in cool gray light. 
By noon the sun again is shining clear, although 
in occasional canyons there is night and deluge, 
and at the close of a bright afternoon the farthest, 
loftiest peak has a white cloud wreath around it, 
as symmetrical as a smoke-ring breathed from the 
hps of a senorita ; and out of the middle of it rises 
the fragment of a rainbow — a cockade on a mist- 
laureled Matterhorn. Then the sun drops, and 
the day is done. 

That is the way it rains in California, and between 
such days are unclouded intervals of considerable 
duration. They call this season winter. The 
temperature is so finely balanced one does not 
easily decide whether to walk upon the sunny or 
the shady side of the street. It is cool, not cold — 
not bracing in the ordinary sense, but just the 
proper temperature for continuous out-of-door life. 
99 




wm&s^r^ 



;^ 



June does not define it, nor September. It has no 
synonym. But if you cared to add one more to the 
many unsuccessful attempts to define it in a phrase, 
you might term it constant delicious weather; to- 
day, to-morrow, and indefinitely in the future, 
morally certain to be very much as you would have 
it if you were to create an air and a sky exactly to 
suit his or her majesty yourself. But even here 
man is a clothes-wearing animal. There is a cool- 
ness pervading the most brilliant sunshine. Remem- 
bering this, the most apprehensive person will soon 
discover that there is no menace in the dry, pure, 
and gently invigorating air of the Southern Califor- 
nia winter. It wins the invalid to health by 
enticing him to remain out of doors. 

Ranging from warm sea-level to peaks of frigid 
inclemency, this varied state ofifers many climatic 
gradations, whose contrasts are nearly always in 
view. In winter you may sit upon almost any 
veranda in Southern California and lift your eyes 
from the brilliant green of ornamental trees and 
shrubs, from orchards where fruits ripen in heavy 
clusters, and from the variegated bloom of gar- 
dens, to ragged horizon-lines buried deep in snow. 
There above is a frozen waste and Alpine terror. 
Here below is summer, shorn of summer languor. 
And between may be found any modification that 
could reasonably be sought, each steadfast in its 
own characteristics. 

The smallest of these communities is great in 
content. Literally couched beneath his own vine 




./'^' 



and fig-tree, plucking from friendly boughs delicious 
fruits, finding in the multifarious products of the 
soil nearly everything needful in domestic economy, 
and free from most of the ills that flesh was thought 
to be heir to, what wonder that the Californian 
envies no man, nor ever looks wistfully over the 
Sierra's crest toward the crowded cities and preca- 
rious farming regions of the East ? An uplifting 
environment for a home, truly, fit to breed a race 
worthy of the noblest empire among the States. 

Ther^ is work to be done, in the house and the 
field, but in such an air and scene it is as near a 
transfiguration of labor as can well be imagined. 
Here it is indeed a poor boy or girl who has not a 
pony on which to scamper about, or lacks liberty 
for such enjoyment. And every year there comes 
a period of holiday, an interval when there is no 
planting or harvesting to be done, no picking or 
drying or packing of fruit, a recuperating spell of 
nature, when the weather is just as glorious as ever, 
and the mountains and ocean beckon seductively to 
the poet that is in the heart of every unharassed 
man and woman and child. Then for weeks the 
canyons are dotted with tents, where the mountain- 
torrents foam and spreading sj^camores are festooned 
with mistletoe; and the trout of the stream and the 
game of the forest have their solstice of woe. Or, 




I 








/ ^ 




on the rim of the sea, thousands of merry hearts, 
both young and old, congregate and hold high car- 
nival. 

When the campers return to shop and field 
it is not by reason of any inclemency of weather, 
but because their term of holiday has expired. 
Then come the tourists, and pale fugitives from 
the buffets of Boreas, to wander happily over hill- 
side and shore in a land unvexed by the tyranny of 
the seasons. 

The most seductive of lands, and the most tena- 
cious in its hold upon you. You have done but 
little, and a day has fled; have idled, walked, rid- 
den, sailed a little, have seen two or three of the 
thousand things to be seen, and a week, a month, 
is gone. You could grieve that such golden bur- 
denless hours should ever go into the past, did they 
not flow from an inexhaustible fount. For to be 
out all day in the careless freedom of perfect 
weather ; to ramble over ruins of a former occupa- 




tion; to wander through gardens and orchards, to 
fish, to shoot, to gather flowers from the blossom- 
ing hill-slopes; to explore a hundred fascinating 
retreats of mountain and shore; to lounge on the 
sands by the surf until the sun drops into the sea; 
all this is permitted by the Southern California 
winter. 

SAN DIEGO AND VICINITY. 

Fringing a bay that for a dozen miles glows like 
a golden mirror below its purple rim, San Diego 
stands upon a slope that rises from the water to 
the summit of a broad mesa. In front the bold 
promontory of Point Loma juts into the sea, over- 
lapping the low, slender peninsular of Coronado, 
and between them lies the narrow entrance to this 
most beautiful of harbors. One may be happy in 
San Diego and do nothing. Its soft, sensuous 
beauty and caressing air create in the breast a new 
sense of the joy of mere existence. But there is, 
besides, abundant material for the sight-seer. Here, 
with many, begins the first acquaintance with the 
growing orange and lemon. Orchards are on every 
hand. Paradise Valley, the Valley of the Sweet- 
water, where may be seen the great irrigating fount 
of so many farms, and Mission Valley, where the 
San Diego River flows and the dismantled ruin of 




Universal Brotherhood Buildings, Point Loma. 



the oldest California mission, elbowed by a modern 
Indian school, watches over its ancient but still vig- 
orous trees, afford the most impressive examples of 
these growing fruits in the immediate neighbor- 
hood. El Cajon Valley is celebrated for its vine- 
yards. At National City, four miles away, are 
extensive olive orchards. Fifteen miles to the south 
the Mexican village of Tia Juana attracts many 
visitors, whose average experience consists of a 
pleasant railroad ride to the border and a half- 
hour's residence in a foreign country. 

The hotels at San Diego adequately care for 
tourist travel. One of the best is Hotel Robinson, 
pleasantly located on a breezy height near the 
city's business center, where there is a wide outlook 
across the blue bay and to the distant mountains. 
This hotel is in favor with those who seek a quiet, 
homelike place. It has two hundred guest rooms, 
a roof garden, a palm court and sun parlor.' 

Construction has begun on the newU. S. Grant 
Hotel, in the heart of the city. When completed 
it will rank with the finest inns of Los Angeles 
and San Francisco. 

On the crest of Point Loma a group of build- 
ings stands out against the azure sky. This is the 
settlement of the Universal Brotherhood, a branch 
of the Theosophical Society, presided over by Mrs. 
Catharine Tingley. It combines benevolent work 
with the search for the lost mysteries of antiquity. 
A large amount of money has already been expended 
on the buildings and grounds. 




Hotel Robinson, San Diego. 



The diverse allurements of mountain and valley, 
and northward-stretching shore of alternating beach 
and high commanding bluf^, are innumerable. 
One marvelous bit of coast, thirteen miles away, 
and easily reached by railway or carriage drive, is 
called La Jolla Park. Here a plateau overlooks 
the open sea from a bluff that tumbles precipitously 
to a narrow strip of sand. 

The face of the cliff for a distance of several miles 
has been sculptured by the waves into most curious 
forms. It projects in rectangular blocks, in stumps, 
stools, benches, and bas-reliefs that strikingly 
resemble natural objects, their surfaces chiseled 
intaglio with almost intelligible devices. Loosened 
fragments have worn deep symmetrical wells, or 
pot-holes, to which the somewhat inadequate 
Spanish-Indian name of the place is due ; and what 
seem at first glance to be enormous bowlders 
loosely piled, with spacious interstices through 
which the foam spurts and crashes, are the self- 
same solid clifif, carved and polished, but not wholly 
separated by the sea. Some of the cavities are 
mere pockets lined with mussels and minute weeds 
with calcareous leaves. Others are commodious 
secluded apartments, quite commonly used as dress- 
ing-rooms by bathers. The real caverns can be 
entered dryshod only at lowest tide. The cliff 




U. S. Grant Hotel, 
San Diego. 



where they He is gnawed into columns, arches and 
aisles, through which one cave after another may 
be seen, dimly lighted, dry and practicable. Sev- 
enty-five feet is probably their utmost depth. They 
are the culmination of this extraordinary work of 
an insensate sculptor. There are alcove-niches, 
friezes of small gray and black mosaic, horizontal 
bands of red, and high-vaulted roofs. If the native 
California Indians had possessed a poetic tempera- 
ment they must certainly have performed religious 
rites in such a temple. The water is as pellucid as 
a mountain spring. The flush of the waves foams 
dazzling white and pours through the intricacies of 
countless channels and fissures in overwhelming 
torrents, and in the brief intervals between ebb 
and rise the bottom of rock and clean sand gleams 
invitingly through a depth of many feet. 

Sea-anemones are thickly clustered upon the 
lov/er levels, their tinted petal-filaments scintillating 
in the shallow element, or closed budlike while 
waiting for the flood. Little crabs scamper in dis- 
orderly procession through the crevices at your 
approach, and the ornamental abalone is also 
abundant. Seaweeds, trailing in and out with the 
movement of the tide, flame through the trans- 
parent water in twenty shades of green, and schools 
of goldfish flash in the swirling current, distorted by 
the varying density of the eddies into great blotches 





»*^ 



Coronado Tent City. 



of brilliant color, unquenchable firebrands darting 
hither and yon in their play. They are not the 
true goldfish whose habitat is a globular glass half- 
filled with tepid water, but their hue is every whit 
as vivid. In the time of flowers this whole plateau 
is covered with odorous bloom. 

Then there is Coronado. Connected by ferry 
with the mainland, Coronado bears the same rela- 
tion to San Diego that fashionable suburbs bear to 
many Eastern cities, and at the same time affords 
recreative pleasures which the inhabitants of those 
suburbs must go far to seek. Here the business- 
man dwells in Elysian bowers by the sea, screened 
from every reminder of business cares, yet barely 
a mile distant from office or shop. Locking up in 
his desk at evening all the prosaic details of bank 
or factory, of railroad rates, of the price of stocks 
and real estate and wares, in ten minutes he is at 
home on what is in effect a South Sea Island, 
where brant and curlew and pelican fly, and not 
all the myriad dwellings and the pomp of their 
one architectural splendor can disturb the air of 




The Japanese Garden, Coronado. 



perfect restfulness and sweet rusticity. From the 
low ridge of the narrow peninsula may be seen, 
upon the one hand, a wide-sweeping mountainous 
arc, dipping to the pretty city that borders the bay. 
Upon the other, the unobstructed ocean rolls. On 
the ocean side, just beyond reach of the waves, 
stands the hotel whose magnificence has given it 
leading rank among the famous hostelries of the 
world. 

It is built around a quadrangular court, or 
patio — a dense garden of rare shrubs and flowering 
plants more than an acre in extent. Upon this 
patio many sleeping-rooms open by way of the cir- 
cumjacent balcony, besides fronting upon ocean 
and bay, and a glass-covered veranda, extending 
nearly the entire length of the western frontage, 
looks over the sea toward the peaks of the distant 
Coronado Islands. On the north lies Point Loma 
and the harbor entrance, on the east San Diego Bay 
and city, and on the south Glorieta Bay and the 
mountains of Mexico, beyond a broad half-circle of 
lawn dotted with semi-tropical trees and bright 
beds of flowers, and bordered by hedges of cypress. 

Here the fisherman has choice of surf or billow, 
or the still-surface of sheltered waters; of sailboat, 
skiff or iron pier. The gunner finds no lack of 
sea-fowl, quail or rabbits. The bather may choose 
between surf and huge tanks of salt water, 
roofed with glass, fringed with flowers and fitted 
with devices to enhance his sport. The sight- 
seer is provided with a score of special local attrac- 



i " 




tions, and all the resources 
of the mainland are at elbow. 
These diversions are the 
advantage of geographical 
location, independent of the social recreations one 
naturally finds in fashionable resorts, at hotels 
liberally managed and frequented by representatives 
of the leisure class. 

A recent addition to the manifold attractions of 
Coronado is the summer tent city on the beach, 
w^here neatly furnished cloth houses may be rented 
by those w^ho desire to get into closer touch with 
nature than they would in a modern hotel. Res- 
taurants, stores and other facilities are provided for 
the comfort of those who camp here, and in sea- 
son music and special entertainment are added to 
the natural attractions. 

The climate of the coast is necessarily distin- 
guished from that of the interior by greater humid- 
ity, and the percentage of invisible moisture in 
the air, however small, must infallibly be greater 
at Coronado than upon the heights of San Diego, 
and greater in San Diego than at points farther 
removed from the sea. This is the clew to the 
only flaw in the otherwise perfect coast climate, 
and it is a flaw only to supersensitive persons, 
invalids of a certain class. The consumptive too 
often delays taking advantage of the benefits of 
climatic change until he has reached a point 
when nicest discrimination has become necessary. 
The purest, driest and most rarefied air compatible 

112 



with the complications of disease is his remedy, 
if remedy exist for him. And the driest and most 
rarefied air is not to be looked for by the sea. 
Yet the difiference is not great enough to be 
brusquely prohibrtory. 

No one need fear to go to the coast, and usually 
a short stay will determine whether or no the 
relief that is sought can there be found ; while for 
many derangem.ents it is preferable to the interior. 
For him who is not in precarious condition the 
foregoing observations have no significance. He will 
find the climate of all Southern California a mere 
gradation of glory. But perhaps around San Diego, 
and at one or two other coast points, there will 
seem to be a spirit even gentler than that which 
rules the hills. 




''T^Tff' 



The Arches, Capistrano. 



f^r^ 







^H.j^.|;^l^^r'i|h' 



San Antofiio de Padua. 



CAPISTRANO. 



A tiny quaint village in a fertile valley that 
slopes from a mountain wall to the sea, unkempt 
and mongrel, a jumble of adobe ruins, w^hite- 
washed hovels and low semi-modern structures, 
straggling like a moraine from the massive ruin of 
the Mission San Juan Capistrano. The mission 
dominates the valley. Go where you will, the ej^e 
turns to this colossal fragment, a forlorn but vital 
thing; broken, crushed, and yet undying. Swarthy 
faces are mingled with the pale Saxon tj^pe, the 
music of the Spanish tongue is heard wherever you 
hear human speech, and from behind the lattices 
of the adobes come the tinkle of guitars and the 
cadence of soft voices in plaintive rhythm. The 
sun makes black shadows by every house and tree, 
and sweeps in broad unbroken light over the undu- 
lating hills to hazy mountain-tops; ground-squirrels 
114 




scamper across the way, wild doves start up with 
whistling wings, and there is song of birds and cry 
of barnyard fowls. The essence of the scene is 
passing quiet and peace. The petty noises of the 
village are powerless to break the silence that 
enwraps the noble ruin ; its dignity is as imperturb- 
able as that of mountain and sea. Never was 
style of architecture more spontaneously in touch 
with its environment than that followed by the 
mission builders. It is rhythm and cadence and 
rhyme. It is perfect art. Earthquake has rent, 
man has despoiled, time has renounced the Mission 
San Juan Capistrano, yet its pure nobility survives, 
indestructible. The tower has fallen, the sanc- 
tuary is bare and weatherbeaten, the cloisters of 
the quadrangle are roofless, and the bones of for- 
gotten padres lie beneath the roots of tangled 
shrubbery ; but the bells still hang in their rawhide 
lashings, and the cross rises white against the sky. 
A contemptuous century has rolled past, and the 
whole ambitious and once promising dream of 
monkish rule has long since ended, but this slow 
crumbling structure will not have it so. Like some 
dethroned and superannuated kii^g, whose insistent 
claim to royal function cloaks him with a certain 
grandeur, it sits in silent state too venerable for 
disrespect and too august for pity. 







r^ 



^^^^\MpUf 



STORY OF THE MISSIONS. 



In the middle of the eighteenth century the Span- 
ish throne, desiring to encourage colonization of 
its territory of Upper California, then unpeopled 
save by native Indian tribes, entered into an arrange- 
ment with theOrder of St. Francis by virtue of which 
that order undertook to establish missions in the 
new country which were to be the nuclei of future 
villages and cities, to which Spanish subjects were 
encouraged to emigrate. By the terms of that 
arrangement the Franciscans were to possess the 
mission properties and their revenues for ten years, 
which was deemed a sufficient period in which to 
fairly establish the colonies, when the entire prop- 
erty was to revert to the Spanish government. In 
point of fact the Franciscans were left in undisputed 
possession for more than half a century. 

The monk chosen to take charge of the under- 
taking was Junipero Serra, a man of saintly piety 
and energetic character, who in childhood desired 
only that he might be a priest, and in maturity 
earnestly wished to be a martyr. Seven years 
before the Declaration of the Independence of the 
American Colonies, in the early summer of 1769, 
he entered the bay of San Diego, 227 years after 
Cabrillo had discovered it for Spain and 167 years 
after it had been surveyed and named by Viscaino, 
during all which preceding time the country had 
lain fallow. Within two months Serra had founded 
a mission near the mouth of the San Diego River, 
117 









i^iw 



pililHiHiliyfK^H: 



Mission San Luis Rey. 

which five years after was removed some six miles up 
the valley to a point about three miles distant from 
the present city of San Diego. From that time one 
mission after another was founded, twenty-one in 
all, from San Diego along the coast as far north as 
San Francisco. The more important of these were 
built of stone and a hard burnt brick that even now 
will turn the edge of the finest trowel. The labor 
of their construction was appalling. Brick had to 
be burnt, stone quarried and dressed, and huge 
timbers for rafters brought on men's shoulders from 
the mountain forests, sometimes thirty miles dis- 
tant, through rocky canyons and over trackless 
hills. 

The Indians performed most of this labor, 
under the direction of the fathers. These Indians 
were tractable, as a rule. Once, or twice at most, 
they rose against their masters, but the policy of the 
padres was kindness and forgiveness, although it 
must be inferred that the condition of the Indians 
over whom they claimed spiritual and temporal 



authority was a form of slavery, without all the 
cruelties that usually pertain to enforced servitude. 

They were the bondsmen of the padres, whose 
aim was to convert them to Christianity and civiliza- 
tion, and many thousands of them were persuaded 
to cluster around the missions, their daughters 
becoming neophytes in the convents, and the others 
contributing their labor to the erection of the enor- 
mous structures that occupied many acres of ground 
and to the industries of agriculture, cattle-raising, 
and a variety of manufactures. There were, after 
the primitive fashion of the time, woolen-mills, 
wood-working and blacksmith shops, and such 
other manufactories as w^ere practicable in the exist- 
ing state of the arts, which could be made profitable. 

The mission properties soon became enormously 
valuable, their yearly revenues sometimes amounting 
to $2,000,000. The exportation of hides was one 
of the most important items, and merchant vessels 
from our own Atlantic seaboard, from England and 
from Spain, sailed to the CaHfornia coast for cargoes 
of that commodity. Dana's romantic and univer- 
sally read "Two Years Before the Mast" is the 
record of such a voj^age. He visited California 
more than a half a century ago, and found its 
quaint Spanish-Indian life full of the picturesque 
and romantic. 

The padres invariably selected a site favorable for 
defense, commanding views of entrancing scenery, 
on the slopes of the most fertile valleys, and con- 
venient to the running water which was the safe- 
119 





MISSION GARDEN, SANTA BARBARA. 




Ii 



guard of agriculture in a 
country of sparse and un- 
certain rainfall. The In- 
dians, less warlike in nature than the roving 
tribes east of the Rockies, were almost uni- 
versally submissive. If there was ever an 
Arcadia it was surely there and then. <,: '■ 
Against the blue of the sky, unspotted by 
a single cloud through many months of the year, 
snow-crowned mountains rose in dazzling relief, 
while oranges, olives, figs, dates, bananas, and every 
other variety of temperate and sub-tropical fruit 
which had been introduced by the Spaniards, 
ripened in a sun whose ardency was tempered by 
the dryness of the air into an equability like that of 
June, while the regularly alternating breeze that 
daily swept to and from ocean and mountain made 
summer and winter almost indistinguishable sea- 
sons, then as now, save for the welcome rains that 
characterize the latter. 

At the foot of the valley, between the mountain 
slopes, and never more than a few miles away, the 
waters of the Pacific rocked placidly in the brilliant 
sunlight or broke in foam upon a broad beach of 
sand. In such a scene Spaniard and Indian plied 
their peaceful vocations, the one in picturesque 
national garb, the other almost innocent of cloth- 
ing, while over and around them lay an atmosphere 
of sacredness which even to this day clings to the 
broken arches and crumbling walls. Over the 
peaceful valleys a veritable angelus rang. The 







mellow bells of the mission churches summoned 
dusky hordes to ceremonial devotion. Want and 
stnfe were unknown. Prosperity and brotherly 
love ruled as never before. 

It is true they had their trials. Earthquakes, 
which have been almost unknown in California for 
a quarter of a century, were then not uncommon, 
and were at times disastrous. Rio de los Temblores 
was the name of a stream derived from the fre- 
quency of earth rockings in the region through 
which it flowed; and in the second decade of our 
century the dreaded temblor upset the 1 20-foot 
tower of the Mission San Juan Capistrano and 
sent it crashing down through the roof upon a con- 
gregation, of whom nearly forty perished. Those, 
too, were lawless times upon the main. Pirates, 
cruising the South Seas in quest of booty, hovered 
about the California coast, and then the mission 
men stood to their arms, while the women and 
children fled to the interior canyons with their 
portable treasures. One buccaneer, Bouchard, 
repulsed in his attempt upon Dolores and Santa 
Barbara, descended successfully upon another mis- 
sion and dwelt there riotously for a time, carous- 
ing, and destroying such valuables as he could not 
carry away, while the entire population quaked 
in the forest along the Rio Trabuco. This was 
the same luckless San Juan Capistrano, six years 
after the earthquake visitation. Then, too, there 
were bickerings of a political nature, and struggles 
for place, after the rule of Mexico had succeeded 




to that of Spain, but the 
common people troubled 
themselves little with such 
matters. 

The end of the Fran- Ar:^^''^^^^^,T^P^^^^^ 
ciscan dynasty came sud- San Gabriel Mission. 

denly with the secularization of the mission 
property by the Mexican government to replete the 
exhausted treasuries of Santa Ana. Sadly the 
fathers forsook the scene of their long labors, and 
silently the Indians melted away into the wdderness 
and the darkness of their natural ways, save such 
as had intermarried with the families of Spanish 
soldiers and colonists. The churches are now, for 
the most part, only decayed legacies and fragmen- 
tary reminders of a time whose like the world will 
never know again. Save only three or four, pre- 
served by reverent hands, where modern worship- 
ers, denationalized and clad in American dress, 
still kneel and recite their orisons, the venerable 
ruins are forsaken by all except the tourist and 
the antiquarian, and their bells are silent forever. 
One can not but feel the pity of it, for in the 
history of zealous servants of the cross there is 
hardly a more notew^orthy name than that of Juni- 
pero Serra, and in the annals of their heroic 
endeavor there is no more signal instance of abso- 
lute failure than his who founded the California 
missions, aside from the perpetuation of his saintly 
name. They accomplished nothing so far as can 
nov/ be seen. 



123 



The descendants of their converts, what few have 
survived contact with the Anglo-Saxon, have no 
discoverable worth, and, together with the greater 
part of the original Spanish population, have faded 
away, as if a blight had fallen upon them. 

But so long as one stone remains upon another, 
and a single arch of the missions still stands, an 
atmosphere will abide there, something that does 
not come from mountain, or vale, or sea, or sky; 
the spirit of consecration, it maybe; but if it is 
only the aroma of ancient and romantic associations, 
the suggestion of a peculiar phase of earnest and 
simple human life and quaint environment that is 
forever past, the mission-ruins must remain among 
the most interesting monuments in all our varied 
land, and will amply repay the inconsiderable effort 
and outlay required to enable the tourist to view 
them. San Diego, the oldest ; San Luis Rey, the 
most poetically environed ; San Juan Capistrano, of 
most tragic memory; San Gabriel, the most impos- 
ing, and Santa Barbara, the most perfectly pre- 
served, will suffice the casual sightseer. These 
also lie comparatively near together, and are all 
easily accessible ; the first three being located on or 
adjacent to the railway line between Los Angeles 
and San Diego, the fourth standing but a few miles 
from the first named city, and the fifth being almost 
in the heart of the famous resort that bears its 
name. 




Pala Miision. 






.,1M,„„ "/"^'^'"""''''tMUlVi^I,.,, 




Reluctantly will the visitor tear himself from the 
encompassing charm of their roofless arches and 
reminiscent shadows. They are a dream of the 
Old World, indifferent to the sordidness and turbu- 
lence of the New; one of the few things that 
have been spared by a relentless past, whose habit 
is to sweep the things of yesterday into oblivion. 
Almost can one hear the echoes of their sweet 
bells ringing out to heathen thousands the sunset 
and the dawn. 

LOS ANGELES. 

One can hardly cross this continent of ours with- 
out gaining a new idea of the immense historical 
significance of the westward yearning of the Saxon, 
who in two and a half centuries has marched from 
Plymouth Rock to the Sunset Sea, and has subor- 
dinated every other people in his path from shore to 
shore. The Spaniard was a world-conqueror in his 
day, and master of California before the Stars and 
Stripes had been devised. The story of his subju- 
gation of the southwestern portion of the New 
World is the most brilliant in modern history. It 




.-^■^V'- Mission San Juan Capistrano. 



is a story of unexampled deeds of arms. Sword 
and cross, and love of fame and gold, are inextri- 
cably interwoven vwith it. The Saxon epic is a 
more complex tale of obscure heroism, of emigrant 
cavalcades, of pioneer homes, of business enter- 
prise. 

The world may never know a sublimer indif- 
ference to fatigue, suffering and death than 
characterized the Spanish invaders of America for 
more than two centuries. Whatever the personal 
considerations that allured them, the extension of 
Spanish empire and the advancement of the cross 
amid barbarians was their effectual purpose. The 
conquistador was a crusader, and with all his cruelty 
and rapacity he is a splendid figure of incarnate 
force. But the westward-flowing wave of Saxon 
conquest has set him, too, aside. In this fair land 
of California, won at smallest cost, and seemingly 
created for him, his descendants to-day are little 
more than a tattered fringe upon the edges of the 
displacing civilization. He has left his mark upon 
every mountain and valley in names that will long 
endure, but himself has been supplanted. He has 
not fled. He has diminished, faded away. 

In 1 78 1 he named the city Pueblo de la Reina de 
los Angeles (Town of the Queen of the Angels). 
The Saxon, the man of business now supreme, has 
retained only the last two words of that high- 
sounding appellation; and hardly a greater 
proportion remains of the original atmos- 
phere of this old Spanish town. You 
127 




II 









rr 



"«?i?i 






The Angelus. 



will find a Spanish (Mexican) quarter, unkempt 
and adobe, containing elements of the picturesque; 
and in the modern portion of the city a restaurant 
or two where English is spoken in a halting fashion 
by very pretty dark-skinned girls, and you may sat- 
isfy, if not your appetite, perhaps a long-standing 
curiosity regarding tortillas, and frijoles, and chili 
con came. As for tamales, they are, as with us, a 
matter of curbstone speculation. 

Senores, senoras, and senoritas are plentifully 
encountered upon the streets, but are not in general 
distinguished by any peculiarity of attire. Upon 
the borders of the city one finds more vivid types, 
and there the jacal, a poor mud hovel thatched with 
straw, is not quite extinct. The words Spanish and 
Mexican are commonly used in California to dis- 
tinguish a racial difference. Not a few of the 
Spanish soldiery and colonists originally took wives 
from among the native Indians. Their oiifspring 
has had its charms for later comers of still other 
races, and a complexity of mixture has resulted. 

The term Mexican is generally understood to 
apply to this amalgamation, those of pure Castilian 
descent preferring to be known as Spanish. The 
latter, numerically a small class, represent high 
types, and the persistency of the old strain is such 
that the poorest Mexican is to a certain manner 
born. He wears a contented mien, as if his 
Diogenes-tub and his imperceptible larder were regal 
possessions, and he does not easily part with dignity 
and self-respect . 




Ho^el Alexandria. 



Hotel Lajikershim. 



The existence of these descendants of the con- 
querors side by side with the exponents of the new 
regime is one of the charms of Los Angeles. It has 
others in historic vein. After its first overland con- 
nection with the East, by way of the Santa Fe 
Trail, it rapidly took on the character of a wild 
border town ; the influx of adventurers and the 
stimulation of an unwonted commerce transforming 
the Spanish idyl into a motley scene of remunerative 
trade, abandoned carousal, and desperate personal 
conflict. Its romantic career of progress and ame- 
lioration to its present enviable estate is marked by 
monuments that still endure. Fremont, the Path- 
finder, here first raised the Stars and Stripes in 
1846, and Winfield Scott Hancock, as a young 
captain, had quarters in this historic town. 

It is difficuh to write of the growth and develop- 
ment of Los Angeles without exaggeration, and the 
reader who is unacquainted with the facts will have 
no doubt that the writer drank of the water of the 
Hassayampa before assuming his task. 

In 1 860 Los Angeles numbered 4,500 inhabitants ; 
in 1880, 11,000; in 1890, 50,000; in 1900, 102,479, 
while to-day the population is estimated at 225,000. 

With this gallop in growth its commercial, manu- 
facturing, banking, transportation and other large 
interests have kept pace, until the city ranks in all 
particulars with the important cities of the country. 








Hotel Va7t Nuys 



fii^ 



Owing to the great number of 
strangers who annually come here, it 
far outranks other cities of the same 
population in metropolitan attrac- 
tions. Its hotels are legion and range 
from the most elaborate structures, 
with luxurious furnishings, to the 
most modest. In this respect Los 
Angeles is outstripped by New York 
alone amongst American cities. The 
fear has been expressed that the building of 
new hotels must cease, not because of lack 
of patronage, but because the supply of alluring 
names is almost exhausted. Its public cafes and 
theatres are numerous and as varied as the cosmo- 
politan patronage requires. In two of its theatres 
stock companies are maintained the year 'round, 
producing the successful plays of the world in an 
artistic manner, while the other theatres have the 
traveling companies sent out from New York. 

The clubs of Los Angeles will also take rank 
with the most dignified and attractive clubs of 
other cities. No better examples can be found 
anywhere than the California Club, Jonathan, 
University and Country; and for the women the 
Women's Club and the Ebell, which own their 
own homes, and others. 

Los Angeles is an up-to-date American city 

in every respect. To find evidences of the old 

Spanish life we must hunt it out in obscure corners. 

Geographically, Los Angeles covers a large area. 

130 




It is, consequently, not surprising to find that 
the average family in Los Angeles has plenty 
of elbow room. The ordinary size of a resi- 
dence lot is 50 by 150 feet, and many are con- 
siderably larger. It is only during the past few 
years that apartments have been introduced, 
and probably ninety-five per cent of the 
permanent residents live in separate homes. 
Wood is the almost universal material for build- 
ing, pine and redwood being used. Owing to 
mild climate, the expense of building is considerably 
less than in the East. There is a great and pleasing 
variety in the architecture of Los Angeles residences. 
Of late the Mission style, with some modifications, 
has come into favor. 

Any one who has not visited Los Angeles 
for fifteen years would scarcely recognize it 
to-day. In 1886 there was not a paved street, 
few graded streets and scarcely any business blocks 
of importance. To-day there are many miles of 
paved streets, and several hundred miles of public 
thoroughfares are graded and graveled. 

Los Angeles is superbly lighted on its principal 
down-town streets with elaborate clusters of electric 
lamps, while the outlying districts are fairly sup- 
plied with electricity. It was the first city in 
the United States to adopt electricity exclu- 
sively for its street lighting. Seen from one of 
the surrounding hills, it is a striking sight, as 
the lights are turned on in the evening, 
twinkling like stars against the dark firmament. 
131 




Christ's Chm'ch. 




.^/^' 



,w>!aa^; 



^^^^^^ 






There is a great variety of sites for building 
within the city hmits. In the northern and 
northwestern and western districts are hills, from 
many of which a view of the ocean, distant about 
fifteen miles, is obtained, with the Sierra Madre 
range of mountains, snow-capped in winter, 
bounding the view on the north. These hills 
have come into favor during the past few 
years as residence sites. The city in the west 
end, around Westlake Park, contains thousands 
of beautiful homes. 

The character of the residents reaches a high 
average for refinement and cultivation, as is evi- 
denced by their homes. A drive through the 
residence districts will well repay the most veteran 
explorer of cities. The architecture is as attractive 
as it is varied and presents beautiful examples of 
every school. These homes are set on lots never 
less than 50 feet front, almost always adorned with 
smooth lawns, and shaded by a great variety of 
ornamental trees gathered from the four quarters 
of the globe. One sees the acacia, the camphor, 
jacaranda, crepe myrtle, pepper, magnolia, euca- 
lyptus and cypress; also palm trees of many kinds. 
Color is lent by flowers and flowering shrubs of 
even greater variety than the trees, and as some of 
them are always in bloom, the beauty of the home, 
no matter howhumble, is enhanced 
every day of the year. 

Electric cars connect not only 
the different sections of the city, 
132 



ilMl^... 



%^s%%.. 




Wdfna7i's Club, Los Angeles, 



but furnish rapid and frequent 
communication with Pasadena, 
Santa Monica, Ocean Park, V^enice, 
Redondo, San Pedro, Long Beach, 
Monrovia, Glendale, Santa Ana 
and other adjacent towns. 

There are altogether about a dozen parks within 
the city hmits of Los Angeles, of which five are 
tracts of considerable size. In these parks may be 
seen many beautiful examples of the semi-tropic 
vegetation which flourishes here. In four of them 
are lakes, with boats, and music is usually provided 
on Sundays. In Eastlake Park, on the east side 
of the river, the nurseries are worthy of inspection. 

Elysian Park, a romantic, hilly tract of over 500 
acres in the northern part of the city, is a rem- 
nant of the thousands of acres of land formerly 
owned by the municipality. Little has been done at 
Elysian Park, beyond improving the portion near the 
entrance and the construction of a few roads from 
which enchanting views of the city and surrounding 
country may be had. Just outside of Los Angeles, 
on the north, is Griffith Park, a tract of 3,000 acres 
of mountainous land. Nothing has yet been done 
toward the improvement of this great tract, except 
a start at reforestation under the direction of a 
United States Government forestry expert. 

A few years ago Los Angeles purchased from 




Church of the 
A?igels. 





Hotel Wcntworth. 




Hotel Green. 




Ne^ Raymond. 



private companies the neighboring water sources 
and their means of supply. In 1905 30,000,000 
gallons were distributed at an average cost of ten 
cents per thousand gallons. This average shows 
the greatest per capita consumption in the United 
States at a rate lower than the majority of our 
cities. The large consumption is accounted for by 
the quantity used in sprinkling lawns, added to the 
long duration of summer weather and the compara- 
tively short period of rain. As the growth of the 
city threatened to be limited by shortage in the water 
supply, it has reached 226 miles across mountains 
and desert to the Owens River and has undertaken 
to bring to Los Angeles, at a cost estimated at 
$25,000,000, a supply of pure mountain water 
sufficient to maintain a city of 1,000,000 people. 

Socially, Los Angeles is a refined and cultivated 
community. There is nothing here that might be 
termed "wild and woolly." This is not surprising, 
w^hen we consider that Los Angeles has been 
chiefly settled by people of culture from east of the 
mountains. The school facilities are excellent, 
including a great variety of private institutions, in 
addition to the public schools. All religious de- 
nominations are Hberally represented. An army of 
specialists give instruction in music, painting and 
every department of art and science. Many brilliant 
writers and artists have made their permanent homes 
here, or in the suburbs. Every fraternal society of 
importance is represented. 

Why does Los Angeles grow at such an aston- 
135 




ishing rate? What is there back of her, what to 
support such a city? 

The answer comes back hot, that the whole 
United States is back of her and supports her. 
Just so long as people grow rich in the United 
States, just so long will Los Angeles grow. She is 
like the best residence street in the cities. People 
who can aiiford it prefer to live there, and in their 
living they create work for thousands of others. 
Her climate is her chief asset, but this asset is not 
shared by any important city of the East. She has 
a monopoly. 

Aside from this, Los Angeles is the center of a 
rich agricultural section. She has mining interests 
in California, Arizona, Nevada and Mexico. Her 
manufacturing interests are growing rapidly — she is 
the centre of the oil-producing section of California 
and she is casting her eyes across the Pacific and 
down the w^est coast at the commerce that may 
come to her through the harbor at San Pedro. 

A glance at the following figures will indicate 
the value of some of these things in dollars: 

Citrus Fruits |i5,ooo,ooo 

Dried Fruits and Rais- 
ins 2,050,000 

Nuts 1,550000 

Beans 1,800,000 

Other Vegetables 5,000,000 

Grain and Hay 5,750,000 

f^^''''-^-\.--yr.- 3,432,155 

Wine, Brandy and Beer 875,000 

Canned Goods i ,000,000 

Butter and Clieese 1,200,000 

Borax 1,280,000 

Poultry and Eggs 1,025,000 

Miscellaneous Manu- 
factured Products. . 45,000,000 



Pork, Beef, Mutton, 

dressed $ 5,500,000 

Fish 5,750,000 

Wool and Hides 550,000 

Fertilizers 650,000 

Gold and Silver 3,900,000 

Gems 340,000 

Petroleum 12,000,000 

Asphaltum 875,000 

Salt, Mineral Waters, 

Lithia 170,000 

Cement, Clay, Brick, 
Limestone, Sand- 
stone, Granite 1,640,000 

Lumber ^. . 300,000 

Lime .*. . 410,000 



37 



P/aca Church. 










Los Angeles Auditoruun. 



PASADENA. 

Just outside the limits of Los Angeles, intimately 
connected by railway and street car lines, is Pasa- 
dena, a thriving modern city of 30,000 inhabitants. 
For the origin of the name you may choose between 
the imputed Indian signification, Crown of the 
Valley, and a corruption of the Spanish Paso de 
Eden (Threshold of Eden). It is in any event the 
crown of that Eden, the San Gabriel Valley, which 
nestles warmly in its groves and rosebowers below 
lofty bulwarks tipped with snow. Here an East- 
ern multitude makes regular winter home in 




California Club, Los Angeles. 



modest cottage or imposing mansion. Every 
fruit and flower and every ornamental tree 
and shrub known to Southern CaHfornia is 
represented in the elaborate grounds of this 
h"ttle reahn. It is a playground of wealth, a 
Nob Hill of Paradise, a blessed home of happy 
men and women and children who prefer this 
to vaunted foreign lands. 

Orange Grove avenue is one of the most 
beautiful residence thoroughfares in the 
United States, or in any other country, for 
that matter. Pasadena entertains a large 
crowd of Eastern visitors within her gates dur- 
ing the winter months. She is well prepared to 
receive them, hotels and lodging houses being 
numerous. The magnificent New Raymond hotel 
on the hill, is a prominent landmark for many 
miles around. Near by is the new Hotel Went- 
w^orth, the latest addition to Pasadena's magnificent 
resort inns. The Hotel Green, adjoining the 
depot of the Santa Fe, is a fine specimen of Cal- 
ifornia architecture. Another notable edifice is 
Hotel Maryland, recently built. 

The visitor to Pasadena in the present year of 
grace finds it difficult to believe that less than 
thirty years ago the site of this beautiful city, then 
known as the San Pasqual rancho, was sold to the 
"Indiana Colony" for $5 an acre, and the seller 
afterward expressed contrition at having taken 
advantage of the "tenderfeet," in charging so exor- 
bitant a price. Then there is Mount Lowe. 
139 









Ho^el Maryland, Pasadena. 




The Biisch Residence, Pasadena. 




Orange Avenne, Pamdena. 



MOUNT LOWE. 

From Los Angeles, through Pasadena and 
Altadena, electric railway cars run to Rubio 
Canyon, a distance of sixteen miles. There 
from an altitude of 2,200 feet, the cable 
incline conveys visitors to the summit of 
Echo Mountain, nearly 1,400 feet higher. 
From this point, v^^here there is an observa- 
tory already somewhat famous for astronomical 
discoveries, radiate many miles of bridle-paths, 
and another electric railway extends to still 
loftier heights at the Alpine Tavern, nearly / 
a mile above the sea, and within a thousand 
feet of the objective summit, which is reached 
by bridle-path. There is no more pleasurable 
mountain trip than this, nor anywhere one more 
easy of accomplishment. Sufficiently elevated 
above its surroundings to afiford commanding views 
which stretch across wondrously fertile valleys to 
other ranges upon the one hand and to the coast- 
wise islands of the Pacific upon the other, the total 
altitude is not great enough to distress those who 
are disordered by the thin air of more exalted 
summits, as in the Rockies. Among the manifold 
attractive features of California the ascent of 
Mount Lowe worthily holds a conspicuous place. 
Its details are fully described in local publications, 
and may be omitted here. 



14] 




W^f^ 




THE "KITE-SHAPED TRACK." 



The most interesting trip for a stranger in Southern 
California is that over the "Kite-shaped Track" 
of the Santa Fe. A visitor can not do better than 
to make this journey, during which he passes 
through the heart of the most thickly populated 
and best cultivated portion of the " Land of the 
Afternoon." It is possible to make this trip be- 
tween breakfast and dinner, allowing time for an 
inspection of Riverside and Redlands, but days can 
be most delightfully spent in many of the towns 
passed, and indefinite periods in these two. 

The track is in the shape of two loops, the 
larger one extending from Los Angeles to San 
Bernardino and the smaller end from San Bernar- 
dino to Redlands. 

The traveler may start from Los Angeles either 
by the northern or southern branch of the " kite." 
Twenty-five minutes after leaving the city, by the 
northern route, the train arrives at Pasadena. 
Turning eastward from Pasadena, the Santa Fe 
line traverses the heart of the San Gabriel Valley, 
the most beautiful stretch of country of equal 
expanse in all California. Especially is this so in 
winter when covered with a vivid mantle of green, 
beyond which are the tawny foothills, dotted over 
with chapparal, backed by the majestic Sierra 




The California Limited at Pasadena. 



Madre, pine-fringed and often snow-clad in winter, 
when oranges are ripening in the valley below. 

East of Pasadena the train runs for several miles 
through the Santa Anita ranch of " Lucky" Bald- 
win. The home place, with its lake and beautiful 
grounds and thoroughbred horses, is a favorite resort 
for Los Angeles people and visitors. There are 
many well kept orchards of citrus and deciduous 
fruits in the valley. The old mission, from which 
the valley obtained its name, lies several miles to the 
south, and is not visible from the train. A dozen 
flourishing towns are scattered along the fifty 
miles between Pasadena and San Bernardino. The 
most important of these are Pomona, Upland and 
Ontario, through which the Santa Fe runs. At 
Pomona a specialty is made of olive culture. 
Ontario is celebrated for its lemons. 

An electric car line runs from Ontario through 
Upland to the Canyon at the head of Euclid 
avenue, a wide, shaded thoroughfare. On either 
side nestle the homes of the citizens, embowered in 
orange and lemon groves and gardens. Ontario 
was founded by the Chaffey brothers, somewhat 
more than twenty years ago. They then went to 
Australia and laid out a large irrigated colony there, 
after which they returned to Southern California, 
and are now engaged in developing the settle 
ment of Imperial, on the Colorado desert 
near Yuma. The visitor from section 
the East where heavy soils are the rule 
probably notice the lightness of much of 
143 




soil between Ontario and San Bernardino. With 
an ample water supply, this apparently poor soil 
gives excellent results in fruit culture. As San 
Bernardino is approached there is seen on the 
mountain side a big arrowhead, a natural freak 
that is visible for many miles around. 

San Bernardino is an old city, as age is reckoned 
among the American improvements of Southern 
California, having been settled by Mormons from 
Salt Lake City in the fifties. They were after- 
ward ordered back to Utah, but a few of them 
chose to remain in this land of promise, and some of 
their descendants are still living there. Here are 
the Santa Fe shops, which give employment to 
hundreds of men. The merchants of the place do 
a considerable trade with the surrounding country. 
A fine toll road leads, by an easy grade, up to the 
pine-clad summit of ^the mountains, back of San 
Bernardino, where, amid the big forest trees, is a 
picturesque clubhouse, known as Squirrel Inn, 
surrounded by cottages, in which some of the 
members of the club spend weeks every summer. 

At San Bernardino commences the smaller loop 
of the Kite-shaped Track, which runs around the 
upper end of the Santa Ana Valley. Here, in the 
foothills, overlooking a magnificent panorama of 
mountain and valley, lies Redlands, a beautiful 
little city, twenty years of age, having been laid out 



Squirrel 




during the big real estate boom of 1887. Redlands 
people claim that the finest oranges in California — 
or in the world — are raised there, and the prices 
paid for the product in the East seem to justify 
their assertions. Canyon Crest Park, Smiley 
Heights, a picturesque and beautifully improved 
private estate, from w^hich there are magnificent 
viev^rs of the surrounding country, is open to visitors. 
Up in the mountains, behind Redlands, and con- 
nected by a stage line during the summer months, 
is Bear Valley, with its lake, from which water is 
obtained for the thirsty orchards below. 

This is a favorite camping place for the valley 
people, who find excellent fishing and shooting, with 
plain and comfortable accommodations at several 
points in the valley. There are sawmills in the neigh- 
borhood. Returning around the loop, close to the 
foothills, the train passes Highland, where is located 
one of the State insane asylums. Back in the hills, 
but plainly visible from the train, hes Arrowhead 
Hot Springs and its fine new hotel. San Bernardino 
is soon again reached, and the train runs southward 
on its spin around the lower branch of the loop. 
Colton is a railroad junction. Between Colton and 
Riverside a branch of the Santa Fe System runs ofif 
to the southeast, through a section of the country 
that has been celebrated by Helen Hunt Jackson, 
in her widely read Southern California novel, 
" Ramona," to Perris, where it again divides. One 
branch* runs to San Jacinto, in the valley of that 
name, the starting-place for Strawberry Valley, a 





The Btirridge Residence, Redlands. 




The Sterling Residence, Redlands. 




Arrowhead Hotel. 



romantic spot among the pines, a mile above the 
cities of the plain. This has for many years been a 
favorite camping ground during the summer months, 
and has recently been made more attractive by the 
erection of a hotel on the detached cottage 
plan w^ith central cafe and casino. The visitor 
who is fairly robust may scale the summit of San 
Jacinto Mountain, five thousand feet higher up. 
Idyllvvild, as this resort is now known, is reached 
from Hemet by stage. The main branch of the 
Santa Fe from Perris extends to Elsinore and 
Temecula. At Elsinore there is a lake of consider- 
able size, and more than a hundred hot springs, 
with great curative properties. Around the lake is 
a drive, fifteen miles long. Near Murietta, south 
of Elsinore, is another group of hot springs. 

The run from San Bernardino to Riverside occu- 
pies only a httle over twenty minutes. Alongside 
the track may be seen the big cement main ditch, 
which furnishes ocular demonstration of the wealth 
of water that has transformed this arid section into 
a blooming garden. Riverside is a locality renowned 
for oranges, and oranges, and still more oranges ; 
culminating in a busy little city overhung by the 
accustomed mountain battlements and pendant to 
glorious avenues many miles in length, lined with 
tall eucalyptus, drooping pepper and sprightly mag- 
nolia trees in straight lines as far as eye can see 



m 






% 











U&»>'^''. 



s^'.'i' 



Nenju Glenivood, 
Riverside. 



U^ 




and broken only by short lateral driveways through 
palm, orange and cypress to mansion homes. The 
almost continuous citrus groves and vineyards of 
Riverside are the result of twenty years of co-opera- 
tive efiort, supplemented by some preponderating 
advantages of location. The pioneer settlers had 
much to contend with, but they persevered, and 
their monument is visible to all. The community 
is one of culture and refinement, and the River- 
siders boast that their city is the wealthiest in the 
United States, in proportion to population. 

The New Glenwood Inn, at Riverside, is con- 
sidered one of the most attractive hotels in Cali- 
fornia. The favorite plan is to drive from River- 
side through Magnolia or Victoria avenue to 
Arlington and there take the train again. 

After leaving the station, the train runs for sev- 
eral miles through a succession of well-kept orange 
groves. Eighteen miles from Riverside is Corona. 
A tree-lined avenue extends almost the entire dis- 
tance between the two places. A few miles farther 
and the track follows the windings of the Canyon 
of the Santa Ana River, through a wild, picturesque 
region, bounded on each side by low ranges of 
mountains. Orange is the next place of importance. 







■^%c^^- 



^4 yj^ 



Arcady., Montecito. 



The three towns of Santa Ana, Orange and Tustin 
form practically one continuous settlement of 
attractive homes. 

Here one may travel mile after mile, over good 
roads, aligned by beautiful shade trees, behind 
w^hich are orchards of deciduous and citrus fruit, in 
a high state of cultivation. Orange is a railroad 
junction on the line from Los Angeles to San 
Diego, by vi^ay of Santa Ana. Anaheim, the next 
stopping place, is the pioneer settlement of this 
region, having been founded more than forty years 
ago as a co-operative vineyard colony by Germans 
from San Francisco. The town lies a short distance 
from the railroad. A few miles west of Anaheim, 
and connected with it by a short line of railroad, is 
the Los Alamitos beet and sugar factory, in which 
Senator Clark, the Montana and Arizona mining 
millionaire, is interested. Fullerton, the next largest 
town of Orange County, was laid out during the 
real estate boom of 1887. It has since developed on 
merit, and it is now an important shipping point 
for horticultural products. There is also a number 
of profitable oil wells in the neighborhood. 

La Mirada, with a pretty little station, built in 
the Mission style of architecture, is the center of 
an extensive tract of olive and lemon orchards, 
covering 3,000 acres. It was founded 
known Chicago publisher, whose • 
object was to assemble here a colony 
of congenial people of wealth and 
taste, who should erect country villas 

149 




to be occupied during the winter. In connec- 
tion with this enterprise is a chemical laboratory, 
in which are prepared a number of by-products 
from the orange, lemon and grape fruit. Santa Fe 
Springs, formerly known as Fulton Wells, is so 
named from springs of mineral water, for which 
great medicinal effects are claimed in the treat- 
ment of rheumatism, gout and other diseases. 
There is a sanitarium^ which is open all the year 
around. A few miles away, to the right, on the 
side of a sloping hill, may be seen Whittier, which 
was started in 1887 as a Quaker colony. The 
large brick building is one of the State reform 
schools, in which several hundred wayward boys 
and girls are taught useful trades. Fine lemons 
and other fruit are raised at Whittier, and there 
are a number of producing oil wells in the hills 
back of the town. Rivera, a small settlement 
between the old and the new San Gabriel Rivers, 
is the chief walnut-growing section of Southern 
California. Standing upon the dome of the hotel, 
and looking to the northeast, south and west, the 
eye may follow long stretches of this valuable tree, 
for miles in every direction. In less than twenty 
minutes after leaving Rivera the train pulls up at 
the Los Angeles depot. 




Hotel 
Red undo. 



SEASIDE RESORTS. 

There are several popular seaside resorts in the 
vicinity of Los Angeles, easily reached, within an 
hour, by steam or electric cars. They are largely 
patronized by residents and visitors, especially dur- 
ing the summer months. Of late the fact has 
begun to be realized that in some respects these 
places are even more attractive during the vi^inter, 
after the rains have carpeted the surrounding 
country v^ith a mantle of green, and laid the dust. 
It is no uncommon thing to see a crowd of merry 
visitors sporting amid the breakers at Christmas, 
in plain view of the snow-capped Sierra Madre 
Mountains. 

The chief of these resorts are Redondo, Santa 
Monica, Long Beach, Ocean Park and Venice. 
Santa Monica is the oldest. All are well improved, 
progressive towns, with beautiful homes, fine 
beaches, comfortable hotels and many attractions 
for summer visitors. About three miles north of 
Santa Monica is the mile-long wharf of the Southern 
Pacific Company. Venice of America has been 
built on novel and unique lines, and a vast sum of 
money expended in making it attractive. 

Redondo has a large hotel and wharf, from which 
there is good fishing, a swimming bath, pebble 
beach, and a nursery, where may be seen several 
acres of beautiful carnations. 
There is a commodious hotel, 
facing the ocean. 

151 




Venice of America. 



Long Beach, the most easterly of the seaside 
resorts of Los Angeles County, has made a very 
rapid growth during the past two years. It is 
specially favored by families, and is the place of 
meeting for the Chautauqua Association in this 
part of the country. Here is one of the finest 
hard beaches on the Pacific coast, several miles in 
length, where excellent surf bathing may be 
enjoyed. 

A few miles west of Long Beach is Terminal 
Island, a seaside resort on a narrow spit of land, 
where a number of Los Angeles people have 
summer cottages upon the beach. Across the bay 
is San Pedro, the chief port of Los Angeles. Of? 
shore may be seen the long trestlework where 
the United States Government is building a big 
breakwater for the improvement of the harbor, so 
that ocean-going vessels may enter, instead of lying 
off shore. Standing out boldly against the horizon 
is the lighthouse on Point Fermin, a beacon to 
mariners. San Pedro is now a place of consider- 
able importance, which will be greatly increased 
after the harbor improvements are completed. 






'^iS^^l^fe^ ,^^— ^^ 



Hotel Bixly^ Long Beach. 



SANTA CATALINA ISLAND. 

Thirty miles off the coast it rises, like Capri, 
from the sea, a many-peaked mountain cap, vary- 
ing in width from half a mile to nine miles, and 
more than twenty long. Its bold cliff shores are 
broken by occasional pockets rimmed by a semi- 
circular beach of sand. The most famous of these 
is Avalon, one of the most frequented camping 
grounds of Southern California. In midsummer its 
numerous hotels are filled to overflowing, and in 
the hundreds of tents clustered by the water's edge 
thousands of pleasure-seekers gather in the height 
of the season. Summer is the period of Santa 
Catalina's greatest animation, for then, as in other 
lands, comes vacation time. But there is even less 
variation of season than on the mainland, and the 
nights are soft and alluring, because the seaward- 
blowing mountain air is robbed of all its chill in 
passing over the equable waters. Here after night- 
fall verandas and the beach are still thronged. The 
tiny harbor is filled with pleasure-craft of every 
diescription, from rowboats to commodious yachts, 
and hundreds of bathers disport in the placid ele- 
ment. 

Wonderful are the waters • of Avalon, blue 
as a Mediterranean sky and astonishingly clear. 
Through the glass bottom of skiffs specially con- 
structed for the purpose you may gaze down 
through a hundred feet of transparency to where 
emerald weeds w^ave and myriad fishes, blue and 
153 



^^. 








brown and flaming red, swim over pebble and shell. 
Or, climbing the overhanging cliffs, you gain the 
fish-eagle's view of the life that teems in water- 
depths, and looking down half a thousand feet upon 
the fisherman in his boat see the bright-hued fishes 
flashing far beneath him. He seems to hang sus- 
pended in the sky. 

Notable fishing is to be had. The barracuda is 
plentiful; likewise the yellow-tail, or sea-salmon, 
also generally taken by trolling, and frequently tip- 
ping a truthful scale at fifty pounds. Sea-bass 
fishing is a famous sport here, and probably the 
most exciting known anywhere to the hand-fisher- 
man. This fish is commonly taken, and in weight 
ranges from 200 to 400 pounds. The fisherman 
who hooks one is frequently dragged in his skifiE for 
several miles, and finds himself nearly as much 
exhausted as the fish when it finally comes to gaff. 

The most popular fishing at Catalina, however, is 
for the tuna, known in the Mediterranean as the 
"tunny," a gamy fish that furnishes the ambitious 
angler all the sport he can reasonably expect, and 
more than many can appreciate. Visitors come 
from all over the world to fish for tuna at Catalina, 
and a tuna club has been formed, which issues 
diplomas and prizes to those who capture with rod 
and reel the biggest tuna during each season. They 
must do it without assistance, and this is frequently 
a difficult job, as the tuna sometimes weighs over 
250 pounds, and has been known to pull a boat con- 
taining three people for nearly twelve hours. The 
155 



favorite diet of the tuna is flying fish, in following 
which they will jump out of the water and catch 
their prey in the air. The average weight of 
sixty-one tuna caught with rod and reel at Catalina 
during the season of 1901 was 119 1-2 pounds, and 
of 142 black sea-bass, or "jewfish," caught in like 
manner, 225 i-2 pounds. 

Perhaps the greatest novelty of a trip to Santa 
Catalina, for most travelers, is the great number of 
flying fish that inhabit its waters. At only a few 
miles' distance from the mainland they begin to leap 
from beneath the bows of the steamer, singly, by 
twos and by half dozens, until one wearies of count- 
ing, and skim over the waves like so many swal- 
lows. The length of flight of which this poetical 
fish is capable proves usually a surprise, for in spite 
of its abundance off the Southern California coast its 
precise character is none too generally known. In 
size, form and color it may be roughly compared to 
the mackerel. Its "wings" are muscular fins 
whose spines are connected by a light but strong 
membrane, and are four in number. The hinder- 
most pair are quite small, mere butterfly wings of 
stout fiber; the foremost pair attain a length of 
seven or eight inches, and when extended are two 
inches or more in breadth. Breaking from the 
water at a high rate of speed, but at a very low 
angle, the flying fish extends these winglike fins 
and holds them rigid, like the set wings of a soaring 
hawk. With the lower flange of its deeply forked 
tail, which at first drags lightly', it sculls with a con- 
156 



vulsive wriggle of the whole body that gives it the 
casual appearance of actually winging its way. The 
additional impulse thus acquired lifts it entirely 
from the water, over whose surface it then glides 
without further effort for a long distance, until, 
losing in momentum and in the sustaining pressure 
of the air beneath its outstretched fins, it again 
touches the water, either to abruptly disappear or 
by renewed sculling to prolong its flight. Whales 
of great size are frequently seen in the channel 
separating Catalina from the main land. 

In the less frequented portions of the island the 
wild goat is still common. If you wish to hunt the 
goat you must first procure a permit, and to obtain 
that you must adduce evidence of your ability to 
tell a goat from domestic sheep upon sight. 

Santa Catalina is reached by steamer from San 
Pedro, connecting with trains from Los Angeles. 
The exhilarating ocean ride and the unique pleas- 
ures of the island can not be too strongly com- 
mended. 

SANTA BARBARA. 



Saint Barbara is, in Spain, the patroness of gun- 
powder and coast defenses, and the invocation of 
her name seems to have occurred in the light of a 
desirable precaution to the founder of this mission, 
who was so fond of building by the sea ; although, 
like one of our own heroes, who supplemented his 
trust in Providence by protecting his ammunition 
from the rain, he kept here, as at a number of other 
157 




points, a garrison of soldiers and a few small 
cannon. 

The place was long known the world over as 
"The American Mentone," because in seeking a 
term to convey its characteristics some comparison 
with celebrated resorts of Europe was thought nec- 
essary and this particular comparison most fitting. 

Such definition is no longer required. Santa Bar- 
bara is a name that now everywhere evokes the soft 
picture of a rose-buried spot, more than a village, 
less than a city, rising gently from the sea-rim by 
way of shaded avenue and plaza to the foot of the 
gray Santa Ynez Mountains, above whose peaks 
the condor loves to soar; where, when with us the 
winter winds are most bitter, normal existence is a 
joyous activity in constant summer sunshine. It 
presents an endless variety of winsomeness. 

The flat beach is broken by rocky points 
where the surf spouts in white columns with deaf- 
ening roar, and above it lies a long mesa, dotted 
with live-oaks, that looks down upon the little 
dreaming mission city and far oceanward ; and on 
the other hand the mountain slopes beckon to 
innumerable glens, and, when the rains have come, 
to broad hillsides of green and banks of blossom. 
There are long level drives by the shore, and up the 
prolific valley to famous orchard ranches, and Mon- 
tecito, a fairyland of homes, is close at hand. 
Between Los Angeles and Santa Barbara, on the 






^'-"v'^^^f-^ Hotel Potter, 
-'^ }va Santa Barbara. 



•©^^^ 



coast, lies San Buena Ventura, with a well preserved 
mission, and Summerland, where may be seen the 
curious spectacle of oil wells pumping from wharves 
erected for the purpose, and extending beyond low- 
water mark. 

Four of the Channel Islands lie opposite Santa 
Barbara — Anacapa, Santa Cruz, Santa Rosa, and 
San Miguel. The last three are only less attractive 
by nature than Santa Catahna, of which mention 
was made in its place, and although equal facilities 
do not exist for the tourist, many persons find their 
way there by means of fishing boats, which fre- 
quently leave Santa Barbara for the island fishing 
grounds. 

These islands, now permanently inhabited only 
by sheep-herders, who tend flocks of many thou- 
sands, were once populated by a primitive people, 
whose burial mounds, as yet only partly ex- 
humed by casual visitors, are rich in archaeological 
treasures. 

Santa Barbara lies northwest from Los Angeles, 
on the coast line of the Southern Pacific. The 
new Hotel Potter, located on a large tract facing 
the ocean boulevard, is the largest in the city. 
This palatial edifice is six stories high, covers two 
acres of ground, and cost a million dollars. The 
architecture is that of the old Spanish missions. 
There are five hundred guest rooms, four roof 
gardens, polo grounds and tennis courts. Visitors 
to Santa Barbara are thus guaranteed the very best 
accommodations. 

159 



Arlington Hotel. 




^■^-^--y/ 




OSTRICH FARMING. 

One of the popular attractions of Southern CaH- 
fornia, that is visited by most new arrivals, is the 
ostrich farm, at South Pasadena, beside the Santa 
Fe track and a short ride from Los Angeles on the 
electric. Here may be seen 150 ostriches, ranging 
in size from the newly hatched chick to the 
mammoth, full-grown bird. Ostriches appear to do 
as well in Southern California as in South Africa, 
their native habitat. There were formerly several 
small ostrich farms in this section, but they have all 
been combined in the establishment at South Pasa- 
dena, which has been running for a number of 
years. It is not merely a show place for visitors, 
but does a large and profitable business in the sale of 
ostrich feathers and useful and ornamental articles 
manufactured therefrom, which are exported to all 
parts of the United States. 

There were recently imported to this farm seven- 
teen Nubian birds, which are supposed to have the 
finest plumage of any of the African ostriches. They 
run wild, and the only way to obtain them is by bar- 
tering with the natives for the chicks, the old ones 
escaping. As there is an export duty of $500 on 
each ostrich sent out of South Africa, these are the 
only birds that can now be obtained to improve the 
California stock. The proprietor of this establish- 
ment recently opened an ostrich farm between 

k 





Nice and Monte Carlo, in the south of France, 
with birds from South Pasadena, so that Southern 
California may now add to her other varied 
resources the exportation of ostriches. 

WINTER SPORTS. 

Where out-of-door life is the rule, there being 
neitherfrost nor chill throughout the day, recreation 
becomes a matter of pure selection, unhampered by 
any climatic condition outside the relatively infre- 
quent rainstorm. A few enthusiasts make a point 
of taking a daily dip in the surf, but the practice 
does not reach the proportions of a popular pastime 
in midwinter. Cross-country riding finds then its 
perfect season, the whole land being transformed 
into a garden, over enough of which the horseman 
is free to wander. Happy must he be who knows 
a purer sport than to gallop, either singly or with 
comrades, in fragrant mornmg air over a fresh sod 
spangled with poppy, violet, forget-me-not, larkspur 
and alfilerilla; bursting through dense thickets of 
lilac and mustard to cross an intervening highway ; 
dipping to verdant meadow vales ; skirting orchards 
heavy with fruit, and mounting tree-capped knolls 
that look off to glimmers of sea between the slopes 
of the hills. 

Coaching has its proper season then, as well, 
and the horn of the tallyho is frequently heard. 
For such as like to trifle with the snows from which 
they have fled, the foothills are at hand, serried with 
tall firs in scattering growths or dense shadowy 





jungles, topping canyons where the wagon-trail 
crosses and recrosses a stream by pleasant fords, and 
the crested mountain quail skulks over the ridge 
above one's head. There may be had climbing to 
suit every taste, touching extremes of chaotic tan- 
gle of chaparral and crag. There are cliffs over 
which the clear mountain-water tumbles sheer to 
great depths ; notches through which the distant 
cones of the highest peaks of the mother range may 
be seen in whitest ermme, huge pines dotting their 
drifts like petty clumps of weed. Under foot, too, 
on the northerly slopes is snow, just over the ridge 
from where the sun is as warm and the air as gentle 
as in the valley, save only the faintest sense of added 
vigor and rarefaction. So near do these extremes 
lie, and yet so effectually separated, you may thrust 
into the mouth of a snow man a rose broken from 
the bush an hour or two before, and pelt him with 
oranges plucked at the very mouth of the canyon. 
And one who is not too susceptible may comfort- 
ably linger until the sun has set, and above the 
lower dusky peaks the loftier ones glow rose-pink in 
the light of its aftershine, until the moon lights the 
fissures of the canyon with a ghostly radiance 
against which the black shadows of the cliffs fall 
like ink-blots. 

Notwithstanding the rapid settlement of South- 
ern California, this section can still show better 
fishing and hunting during the winter season than 
almost any other region of the country. With the 
first grass that follows the early winter rains the 
162 



wild duck comes down from his northern nursery 
to bathe in the warm sunshine. The ghstening 
green of the mallard's neck dots the water of the 
lagoon. Duck-shooting on a moonlight night is a 
favorite sport. With the mallard come the canvas- 
back, the redhead, the sprigtail, the gadwell, the 
widgeon, the spoonbill and the delicate little teal. 
This is not the blue-winged teal of the Mississippi 
Valley, or the green-wing that is there so common, 
but another variety of green-wing, of about the 
same size as the Eastern bird, and with equal 
swiftness of wing. These ducks, and some others, 
are found in great abundance during the winter 
season, within an hour's ride of Los Angeles. 
There are great flocks of the Canada goose, 
together with the snow goose. They feed on the 
alfilerilla and clover of the plains and hills, occa- 
sionally making excursions into the grain fields. 
The valley quail of California is a gamy bird, which 
has become somewhat shy since guns have increased 
in number. Formerly this bird was so abundant that 
one might easily obtain as big a bag as could be car- 
ried home, without a dog, but now a good bird dog 
is becoming essential, unless the sportsman is an 
expert, or goes into a thinly settled region. The 
little brown plover makes good game for the begin- 
ner during the greater part of the winter. . The 
mountain pigeons sometimes come down in flocks 
and afford lively shooting. The English snipe is 
found on some of the meadows. Among the 
brush, on the foothills, cottontail and hare are 
163 



plentiful, in seasons of normal rainfall. One needs 
to be a good shot to make a bag of these active 
little animals. Deer are becoming scarce, but are 
still brought in during the season. The Pacific 
Ocean abounds in fish, and while midwinter is not 
the best season, there is often good fishing along 
the coast, long before the winter is over. Among 
the leading members of the finny tribe that may be 
counted on to furnish sport are tuna, mackerel, 
yellow-tail, barracuda and bonita. Then, among 
deep-water fish, are the rock cod and the redfish. 

Catalina Island, thirty miles from the main- 
land, is a noted place for the catching of big fish 
with rod and reel, especially the gamy tuna, to 
which sport reference has been made on a preced- 
ing page. There are also found the monster 
"jewfish," weighing sometimes over 400 pounds. 
The catches frequently made by fishermen in the 
Bay of Avalon, within a few hours, are so remark- 
able as to challenge the credulity of Eastern peo- 
ple, so that the sportsman usually carries home 
with him a few photographs, as an ocular demon- 
stration of his prowess. In the spring months 
trout fishing is a favorite sport all along the streams 
of the Sierra Madre range, within a few hours' 
journey of Los Angeles, amid wild and romantic 
scenery. 

The grizzly was once exceedingly common. One 
of the great sports of the old mission days was to 
hunt the grizzly on horseback with the riata for 
sole weapon, and it is of record that in a single 
164 




neighborhood thirty or forty of these formid- 
able brutes were sometimes captured in a 
night by roping, precisely as a modern cowboy 
ropes a steer ; the secret of the sportsmen's 
immunity lying in the fact that the bear was 
almost simultaneously lassoed from different 
sides and in that manner rigidly pinioned. 
But Ursus horribilis has long since retreated 
to deep solitudes, where his occasional pursuers, 
far from approaching him with a rawhide 
noose, go armed with heavy repeating rifles, 
and even thus equipped are not eager to 
encounter him at very close range. 

Cricket is naturally a favorite diversion 
among the many young Englishmen who have 
located upon ranches; and yachting, polo and tennis 
do not want for devotees. Golf finds many devotees 
in this favored land, and is at its best during the 
winter. Excellent links will be found in Los 
Angeles, Pasadena, Riverside, Coronado, San Diego, 
Santa Monica, Santa Catahna, and elsewhere. 




A LAND OF FLOWERS. 

Nothing is more delightful and astonishing to 
visitors in California than the wonderful wealth of 
flowers, and winter and early spring are the best 
time to witness this beautiful exposition of nat- 
ural beauty. Indeed, these are the only seasons 
in which the wild flowers may be seen in variety. 
Soon after the first rain the dull brown of the hills 
and plains is supplanted by a mantle of vivid green, 
165 



and this, later in the season, is transformed into a 
carpet of variegated hues. The most rare and ten- 
der plants, which in the East are found only in 
hot-houses, here grow rampant in the gardens. 
The size to which some of these plants attain is 
astonishing. The geranium and heliotrope cover 
the side of a house, and two-story buildings are 
smothered in blossoms from a single rose-bush. 
The mammoth California violet has acquired a 
world-wide reputation. In the front yard of the 
humblest cottage may be seen the brilliant poin- 
settias, luxuriant passion vines, heliotrope, bego- 
nias, and calla-lilies, together with waving bananas, 
magnificent palms and graceful bamboos. The 
calla-lily and tube-rose are planted by the acre, for 
the market. 

Among the most interesting sights of Southern 
California are the flower carnivals, held at regular 
intervals in Los Angeles, Santa Barbara, and other 
cities, where may be seen all kinds of vehicles, 
from a bicycle to a four-in-hand, smothered in 
fragrant blossoms. On New Year's Day, each 
year, Pasadena has maintained its Tournament of 
Roses, and established a reputation for the most 
elaborate festival of this character. 

Flowering trees are also here in abundance, 
notable among which are varieties of the eucalyptus, 
bearing bunches of beautiful white blossoms. At 
the State Experiment Station, near Santa Monica, 
are over one hundred varieties of this tree. The 
crepe myrtle, jacaranda, magnolia, acacia and 
[66 




Los Angeles 
Country Club. 



grevillia are also represented in great numbers. It 
is not a constant struggle to make flowers and 
plants grow in California throughout the year. 
Plenty of water and a little cultivation, and a kindly 
nature does the rest. The most noted of the wild 
flowers which make the country a blaze of glory dur- 
ing the later winter months and in the early spring 
is the California poppy, which has been burdened 
with the unromantic name of escholtzia. This has 
been made the State flower. The hills back of 
Pasadena are a blaze of gold with this beautiful wild 
flower, in the early spring, and on a clear day the 
flame tint may be clearly discerned from the ocean, 
thirty miles distant. Another beautiful wild flower, 
abundant in the foothills of Southern California, is 
the scarlet larkspur, a flower peculiar to this State. 
There is a commercial side to flower culture in 
Southern California. Besides supplying the local 
market, florists have occasionally made shipments 
of cut flowers to the East, with varying success. 
At Redondo, Oceanside and Santa Monica may be 
seen several acres of magnificent carnations. The 
growing of seeds for Eastern dealers is a profitable 
business. One enterprising woman at San Buena 
Ventura has made a great success in growing seeds 
and developing new varieties. There have been 
attempts at the manufacture of perfumery from 
flowers. 




V. 



CENTRAL CALIFORNIA. 

/^ENTRAL CALIFORNIA comprises that part 
^^ of the State between Tehachapi Mountains 
and San Francisco. Its chief feature is the great 
San Joaquin Valley, bordered on sunset and sunrise 
sides by the Sierra Nevada and coast ranges. 

Going from Barstow (junction point for Southern 
California) over the line of the Santa Fe to San 
Francisco, the desert continues as far as Mojave. 
The railroad has robbed these wastes of their worst 
terrors. Occasional friendly oases mark the homes 
of adventurous settlers, and on either hand scarred 
mountain-faces proclaim the conquering miner, 
who, seeking gold, is undismayed by Nature's for- 
bidding front. 0£f to the north is the Randsburg 
mining district, reached from Kramer Station. But 
the prevailing note is that of silence and desolatfon. 

Beyond Mojave the line bears northward. The 
summit of Tehachapi Range is achieved by a series 
of remarkable loops and tunnels. Tehachapi Pass, 
with its limpid streams, shady forests and cool air, 







is in pleasing contrast to the hot Mojave sands. '^ 
The altitude is nearly 4,000 feet, with steep grades 
that are only surmounted by a strong and steady J 
pull. Rapidly descending, the imperial San Joa-^^ 
quin Valley, 32,000 square miles in extent, is 
entered at Bakersfield. In this magnificent basin, 
containing ten million acres of arable land, products 
of the temperate, semi-tropical and tropical zones 
flourish side by side. Along its eastern slope are 
numerous mines and dense forests, while at its 
southern extremity an extensive petroleum field 
pours rich floods from a thousand throats. 

The greatness of the San Joaquin is too super- 
lative for more than a brief outline here. Those 
interested in the subject are referred to a book 
published by the Santa Fe, entitled "The San 
Joaquin Valley in California." 

The pleasure-seeker may be wooed from his 
Pullman by stories of the wondrous big trees that 
are reached by stage rides from either Merced or 
Visalia stations; or he may be attracted by the 
scenic beauties of lovely Yosemite (now expedi- 
tiously reached via Merced and the Yosemite 
Valley Railroad), and the wild canyons of Kings 
and Kern rivers — these latter known to few 
travelers, but pronounced indescribably grand. 





A San Joaquin Valley ' 
Vineyard. 




Mount Whitney, the king of the California Sierras, 
rises higher than any peak in the United States, 
exclusive of the Alaskan giants. 

The business man will be allured by the many 
opportunities here offered for successful farming, 
manufacturing and trading. This vast expanse 
constitutes one-fifth of California's total area, con- 
tains twelve counties, is 260 miles long by 60 to 90 
miles wide, and is nearly as large as Indiana. 

Steamers ply between San Francisco and Stock- 
ton; the San Joaquin River is navigable at all times 
for a considerable distance, especially in the rainy 
season. It is fed by many tributary streams, such 
as Kern, Kings, Merced, Tuolumne, and Stanislaus 
rivers, which head in mountain snows and furnish — 
by irrigation's aid — abundant water for crops., 
The east side of the valley is a network of main 
and lateral canals. Abundant crops are thus 
assured, for the soil only needs wetting at the right 
times to yield luxuriantly. 

Half the grain grown in California is harvested 
along the San Joaquin. Wheat farms of 10,000 to 
50,000 acres are not uncommon. On these big 
areas wholesale methods are imperative. Large 
gang plows, operated by traction engines, are 
employed. Harvesting is accomplished only by the 
aid of machines drawn by as many as thirty horses, 
that cut and thrash the grain, delivering it in sacks 
ready for shipment. 





#iM 



Alfalfa, the favorite forage plant of California, 
grows greenly on thousands of acres, and great 
cattle ranches contribute their quota of industrial 
wealth. The tendency now is to divide these big 
holdings and invite settlement by small farmers, fruit- 
raisers, and cattlemen. The Laguna deTache grant, 
west of Fresno, is an example of such colonization. 

Raisin and wine industries center at Fresno, 
where there are raisin-seeding and packing plants, 
wineries and distilleries. Fresno County alone has 
40,000 acres of vineyards. 

Bakersfield, Corcoran, Tulare, Visalia, Hanford, 
Fresno, Merced and Stockton are the principal 
cities — thriving communities, with modern busi- 
ness blocks, tree-bowered homes and public build- 
ings worthy of cities twice their size. 

Clustering around these busy centers of industry 
are found immense orchards of prunes, peaches, 
apricots, figs, and other fruits, also profitable dairies. 

On the rich river bottom lands, near Stockton, 
winter vegetables are grown for the Eastern markets. 

A million and a quarter persons could easily be 
accommodated on the farming lands of the San 
Joaquin Valley, allowing a family of five to each 
forty-acre tract. Without wishing to usurp the 
prerogatives of the real estate boomer, one may 
truthfully affirm that the San Joaquin Valley is an 
ideal place for the man who wishes to begin in a 





moderate way and surely acquire a competence. 
Small tracts can be bought at reasonable rates, on 
time, with excellent water rights. One need not 
wait years for his orchard to come into bearing. 
Here the Iowa or Illinois or Nebraska farmer has no 
new business to learn. He can at once start in 
raising hogs and cattle, wheat, hay and garden 
truck, and make the farm pay from the start — 
gradually working into fruit, as a side issue or the 
main support, at his convenience. 

SAN FRANCISCO. 

The bay of San Francisco is almost completely 
encircled by land. The Golden Gate is the tide- 
way, a narrow passage between the extremities of 
two peninsulas, upon the point of the southern- 
most of which the city stands. 

Here, too, the Franciscan mission-builders were 
first upon the field, and the present name is a cur- 
tailment of Mission de los Dolores de Nuestro Padre 
San Francisco de Jsis, an appellation commemora- 
tive of the sorrows of" the originator of the order. 
The Mission Dolores, founded in 1776, is still pre- 
served with its little campo santo of the dead, a 
poor, unsightly, strangled thing, structurally un- 
imposing and wholly wanting in the poetic 
atmosphere of semi-solitude that envelopes the 
missions of Southern California. So nearly, in 
forty years, has all trace of the preceding three- 
quarters of a century been obliterated. Changed 



^^/%.^:^ 




172 



from a Spanish to a Mexican 
province early in the century, 
then promptly stripped of the rff. 

treasures that had been accu- eE^^^^^^ — 

mulated by monkish administra- /"""'"'i^s^^ 
tion, and subsequently ceded 
to the United States, California 
had on the whole a dreamy, quiet life until that 
famous nugget was found in 1848. Then 
followed the era of the Argonauts, seekers of 
the golden fleece, who flocked by the thousand 
from Eastern towns and cities by way of the plains, 
the Isthmus and the Cape to dig in the gravel- 
beds; lawless adventurers in their train. San 
Francisco practically dates from that period. 
Its story is a wild one, a working-out of order 
and stable commercial prosperity through chapters 
that treat of feverish gold-crazy mobs, of rapine 
grappled by the vigilance committee, of insurrection 
crushed by military force. And in this prosperity, 
oddly enough, the production of gold has been 
superseded in importance by other resources ; for 
although California annually yields more precious 
metal than any other State, the yearly value of its 
marketed cattle,wool, cereals, roots, fruits, sugar and 
wines is twice as great, and forms the real com- 
mercial basis of the great city of the Pacific coast. 
As if it were fearful of being hid, it is set upon 




T/ie Santa Fe 
Ferry. 




not one but a score of hills, overlooking land and 
sea. As you near it, by way of Ferry Point, you 
will be dull, indeed, if your pulses are not stirred in 
anticipation of viewing one of the really great 
cities of the world. 

The traveler steps from the train at Ferry Point 
or Oakland and soon is out on the bosom of the 
bay — San Francisco Bay ; one of the finest harbors 
in all the world. 

Few bays are more picturesque ; none better 
suited to the purposes of commerce. Crossing 
on the fine Santa Fe ferry-boat (on which de- 
licious meals are served) and leaving the dock 
at Ferry Point, San Francisco Bay proper extends 
far beyond the Hmits of vision southward. To 
the north are other portions of the same bay, 
though carrying distinctive names. At the head of 
San Pablo Bay is Mare Island, with Uncle Sam's 
big navy yard. Mount Diablo seems to rise close 
upon the Suisun shore, while from Ferry Point, 
and during the run to San Francisco, can be 
seen upon the right the sharp peak of Mount 
Tamalpais, which looks beyond across the wide 
Pacific. 

When the first burst of delight at the wondrous 
panorama has settled into a calmer satisfaction, the 
traveler will begin to pick out and enquire con- 
cerning the various points of interest. 0& to the 
right, which is here the west, is a lofty red island, 
and beyond, on the shore, a grim cluster of red and 




'^ --^ Music Stand, 

Golden Gate Park. 



gray buildings. The cluster of foreboding build- 
ings is the State Prison on Point San Quentin. 

Angel Island, on the south of Raccoon Straits, 
is, like all the islands of the bay, government prop- 
erty. Just around the first headland is Hospital 
Cove, and there is located the United States Quar- 
antine Station. The island itself is one-and-a-half 
miles long, its crest rises 760 feet from the bay, 
and its area is about 600 acres. 

Looking back toward the bay shore on the left, 
the island between Ferry Point and the main- 
land carries the pastoral title of Sheep Island. 
The Government puts it to no use. On the shore 
beyond, the various building clusters generally mean 
powder works, where dynamite and other high 
explosives are manufactured for use in mines. 

The eye, now sweeping to the southward, soon 
catches evidences of urban Hfe. This is Berkeley, 
and against the shoulder of the hills, which mark 
its boundary, may be seen the buildings of the great 
State University. The present buildings are looked 
upon as makeshifts and are soon to give place to 
far more adequate and imposing structures to be 
erected on the magnificent plans of M. Bernard, 
of Paris. The buildings of the State Institute for 
the Deaf, Dumb and Blind — one of the finest 
schools of its kind in any country — are just south 
of the University. 

Across San Antonio estuary, which the work of 
the Federal Government has converted into Oak- 
land Harbor, the city of Alameda peeps from its 
175 




clustered oaks. A little closer on the view looms 
the island which the Spaniards called Yerba Bucna, 
but to which the more prosaic Anglo-Saxons have 
given the name Goat. . On this the Government 
has a torpedo-supply station for the war-ships, a 
depot for the buoys and supplies of the lighthouse 
tenders, and a new Naval Training School, where 
American lads are to be taught how to defend the 
country's honor upon the sea. 

But there is a whifi of a fresh salt breeze as the 
boat passes beyond the southerly point of Angel 
Island, and all travelers will turn to the right again 
to get the first view of the Golden Gate. 

Here, indeed, is fascinating beauty. The broad 
bay narrows to the width of a mile — the Golden 
Gate proper — and through this narrow passage ebb 
and flow the mighty tides. Some resistless forces 
of old earth's agony seem to have rent the big hills 
to make this way for commerce. On the north 
the bluffs rise sheer and frowning. From their 
tops may be seen the guns of a heavy battery, of 
i2-inch rifles- — 473 feet above the sea level — the 
highest heavy gun battery in the world. General 
Nelson A. Miles calls it the Gibraltar of America. 

Inside the Gate are attractions for the nearer 
view. In mid-channel the fortified island of Alca- 
traz rears itself 140 feet above low water. Here is 
the mihtary prison and an artillery post, with' a 
torpedo station and a light that can be seen for 
nineteen miles out at sea. 
176 




m^!^rs^ 



But now the eye begins to be engaged with the 
view of the city of San Francisco itself —a city which 
before the great fire contained 400,000 inhabitants 
— a shifting concourse of strange peoples andstranger 
trades — odors unknown and unfamiliar tongues, a 
medley of the stories of the world. 

It was then a city of fair aspect — in one direction 
undulating from the water's edge, in another rising 
abruptly to the precipitous heights of Telegraph 
HiU — its topography such as to display, from each 
of half a hundred vantage points, many new phases. 

A world-city of great commercial activity — such 
was San Francisco in the early morning of Wednes- 
day, April 18, 1906. A moment later came the 
earthquake- — and after that the fire. 

What of the future ? 

At about 5:15 — the big clock on the Ferry 
House tower stopped at 5:16 — came the first great 
shock of that elemental calamity that was to write 
the date of April 18, 1906, into the stirring history 
of San Francisco as the most fateful day that ever 
broke above her many hills. It had been a beauti- 
ful night. In April, of all times in the year, the 
finest nights that the coast climate knows redeem 
the reputation of San Francisco's weather. More- 
over it had been a gala night in the gay society life 
of the most cosmopolitan of American cities, the 
most Bohemian of gay, laughter-loving, music- 
loving, pleasure-loving populations, gathered from 
far-off European capitals, and from the best of 
American blood as well. One of the greatest 

•77 f^ 




grand opera organizations in the world was in the 
city, and the post-Lenten fever of society's revels 
was at its height. The climax of the grand opera 
season had been reached the night before in a 
magnificent performance which had called for the 
supreme efforts of the strongest cast of world- 
famous singers ever seen in San Francisco, and 
never had enthusiasm run higher in San Francisco's 
musical world. The performance was only con- 
cluded at midnight, and then for hours the cafes 
had been gay with the laughter and comment of 
the opera-goers. Even when the great shock 
struck and the first tall towers tottered to their fall 
some of the revelers were in the streets, — only a 
iew, but it is from these that the most coherent 
story of the beginning of San Francisco's great 
tragedy has been gleaned. It is the story of a 
series of more or less prolonged shuddering jerks 
and writhings of the earth, here and there the 
crash of falling walls, then a great silence for 
several minutes. Then, of a sudden, from up 
Market street came the growing clamor of the 
gong on the on-dashing cart of the fire chief. The 
destruction of San Francisco, only badly shaken by 
the great earthquake, was at hand from fire. In 
the twisted and tangled masses of rookery buildings 
shaken into collapse by the temblor broken gas 
pipes had started blazing. Worst of all, beneath 
the surface of the streets the mains that brought 
the water supply had been twisted 
and broken. The doom of San 
Francisco had been pronounced. 



Hotel St, Francis. 




Fire had gotten under way. There was "no water. 
From that moment until, three days later, the 
many fires, of which this first blaze was only a 
forerunner, had burned themselves out, over four 
square miles of the city's heart were eaten out 
utterly, and nearly four hundred millions of dollars 
worth of property was reduced to embers and hot 
junk. Of the four hundred thousand prosperous, 
happy, pleasure-loving population nearly three hun- 
dred thousand were sleeping, on the public ground 
of the city's parks, ruined and homeless refugees. 

Had not the human interest submerged all sense 
of the scene as a spectacle, nothing so awful and 
stupendous ever before has been witnessed as this 
panorama of destruction from the hills across the 
bay. But with every hour adding thousands to 
the number of suffering, homeless human beings 
the moments were all too crowded with horror and 
sympathy for any sense of the spectacle itself. 

While yet the fires were crackling and walls were 
still falling; while the whole wide world seemed on 
tiptoe to offer sympathy and material aid, these 
children of the argonauts were planning the building 
of the new San Francisco, which in a few years 
will be the greater San Francisco. 

San Francisco is already rising from its ruins ; nay 
it has almost risen. Its rebuilding is a new wonder 
of the world. Why not ? What Chicago and 
Boston, Charleston, Galveston and Baltimore have 
done, San Francisco is doing far more quickly and 
completely — for in many ways conditions favor the 
179 




Fairmont Hotel. 



rapid rebuilding of great business buildings now as 
they never did before. Its many fine new structures 
are both fire-proof and quake-proof and present 
the last word in the architect's art and skill. 

But for the great fire which followed the temblor, 
San Francisco's hum of industry would not have 
ceased, and the wound caused by the earthquake 
would long since have healed and cicatriced. Out 
of its sad experience came one practical lesson that 
is fraught with most satisfying encouragement for 
the future — that modern steel structures, properly 
anchored, have nothing to fear from earthquake, 
and survive the ravages of great fires adjoining. 

Of the show places visited by so many thousands 
in the past only a few were spared. 

The Cliff House, renovated and under new 
management, still looks out upon the ocean as of 
old, practically unharmed, and the near-by Sutro 
Baths and Garden sustained no damage. A littlfe 
out from the shore below the Clifif House the big 
seals still sun themselves on the Seal Rocks or 
swim about among the flashing breakers. 

The old Presidio also was spared from destruc- 
tion, and became a haven of refuge for the stricken 
and bereft inhabitants of the city. 

Golden Gate Park, which became a vast camp 
where thousands of people were gathered in tents, 
and the great work of relief went on cease- 
lessly, is now comparatively free from the camps of 
the refugees, who are refugees no longer, but self- 
respecting, self-supporting citizens, and its reha- 
i8o 



bilitation as one of the world's finest parks is under 
way. This park is impossible of duplication and 
beyond compare. This is due first to climatic 
conditions, second to its topography. Beautiful 
shrubbery, abundant bloom, varied landscapes and 
artistic statuary are here. Wide stretches of grassy 
plain are succeeded by beautiful eminences, at the 
feet of which are on one hand placid lakes, on the 
other the glittering waves of the Pacific. From the 
Clif^ House, on its sunset edge, may be seen bare 
rocks where a colony of seals warm themselves in 
the kindly sunshine after a frolic in the salt sea. 

The United States Mint, though scorched by the 
flames, fortunately survived, and the thirty millions 
of dollars within its vaults were preserved. 

The residence district is practically intast, very 
little damage having been done there. 

Chinatown — that quaint bit of MongoHan life, 
squalid by day and overcast by an Oriental, mystical 
glamor at night, foreign to the soil on which *t 
stood, a grotesque jumble and panopticon of peep 
shows, is being rebuilt more rapidly than any other 
portion of the city, and the same quaint character- 
istics obtain in the new Chinatown that made the 
old a place of such mystical allurement. 

The old world of clubdom, the multitudinous 
restaurants with their varied menus, and" the gay 







it 



Cliff House 




theaters where the world's greatest artists have 
appeared, all passed away, but in their places new 
and even more attractive ones are being built. 

One may look in vain for many historic land- 
marks, for the old-time churches and libraries and 
art galleries. 

Yet there is much of even greater interest in 
San Francisco for the sightseer. The rebuilding 
of a great city is in itself such a titanic undertaking 
and herculean labor as to appeal strongly to any 
person who likes to see "things in the making." 
Sooner than one would deem possible the world of 
busy shops, brilliant theaters, stately churches and 
hospitable hotels will hold the stage again in San 
Francisco — more busy, more brilliant and more 
beautiful than before. 

San 'Francisco is now well equipped to care for 
the hurried stranger of a day, or the visitor whose 
stay lasts indefinitely. Many hotels have resumed 
business; many new ones have been built and 
orpened. These will comfortably accommodate 
30,000 people. All have been newly furnished, 
have good rooms with baths, also first-class restau- 
rants and grill rooms., St. Francis Hotel, Union 
Square, has a fine temporary structure to care for 
their guests until the main edifice and the new 
annex open on September first. The Palace Hotel 
is being rebuilt on the old site, and on an even 
greater scale of magnificence, a temporary building 
housing and splendidly entertaining the Palace 
clientele in the meantime. The magnificent new 
Fairmont Hotel, one of the finest in the world, 
and massed grandly on the crest of Nobs' Hill, 
will be thrown open to the public on April 19. 
182 




OAKLAND. 

Suffering somewhat in ^ 
prestige by having been 
considered for many years 

as a suburb of San Fran- — ^ _^?^'! 

cisco, Oakland has recently been asserting a marked 
and aggressive individuality of its own, and probably 
no city on the Pacific coast has made more 
marked progress in the last five years than has this 
wonderfully favored town. With a population 
now of considerably more than one hundred thou- 
sand, Oakland has thrown off the swaddling clothes 
of suburbanism and become distinctly urban, with 
a clearing-house of its own, with large and numer- 
ous banking houses, hotels, theaters, cafes, public 
buildings and all the other indicia of a rapid round- 
ing into metropolitanism. It has had a wonderful 
development in the last few years, and has every 
assurance of a prosperous future on its own merits. 

Resting in the great amphitheater formed by the 
Sierran foothills back of it, with the great Bay on 
its front and a landlocked harbor six miles in length 
on its southern side, its location is at once pictur- 
esque and commercially most fortunate. Its east- 
ern shore has fifteen miles of water front, while 
Oakland Estuary and the basin lying at its head is 
suited for shipping of larger draught, and the shores 
for extensive shipbuilding. Manufacturing inter- 
ests will move steadily up the eastern shore of the 
Bay; the room, the small cost of ground, close touch 
with overland railway, ship and factory appealing 
to manufacturers. 183 



Oakland Hi^h Scliool. 



Santa Fc Station, * 
Oakland. 





^yM^^''''^^^''"' 



A STREET IN CHINATOWN BEFORE THE FIRE. 



• SUBURBAN SAN FRANCISCO. 

Suburban San Francisco embraces much of inter- 
est. The bay shore cities of Berkeley, Oakland 
and Alameda (housing a population one-third a^ 
great as San Francisco's normal number), are in 
turn neighbored by pretty suburbs. On the heights 
above Oakland is the home of Joaquin Miller, 
farther south Mills College, delightfully environed, 
and several charming picnic parks — among them 
Piedmont Springs and Leona Heights, 

On the Marin County shore, beyond the Golden 
Gate, are Sausalito and Mill Valley, through which 
a winding scenic railway is built to the half-mile 
high summit of Mount Tamalpais, from whence 
one may view the entire bay region. The trip is 
similar to the climb up Mount Lowe, near Los 
Angeles. Farther inland is the charming residence 
suburb of San Rafael. 

To the south, along the peninsula, one comes 
upon the homes of some of California's million- 
aires, at Burlingame, of polo repute, Milbrae, and 
San Mateo, while below the junction of San Fran- 
cisco's peninsula with the mainland the Santa 
Clara Valley stretches southward between the Coast 
and Santa Cruz ranges. Along this valley lies the 
way to San Jose and the coast resorts of Santa 
Cruz and Monterey, with intermediate ooints of 
celebrity. 

Palo Alto is the site of the Stanford University, 
where, in a campus of 8,000 acres, an arboretum 
185 



to which every cHme has Hberally contributed, 
stands this magnificent memorial of a cherished 
son. The buildings are conceived in the style of 
rnission architecture — low structures connected 
by an arcade surrounding an immense inner court, 
with plain, thick walls, arches and columns, built 
of buff sandstone and roofed with red tiles. Richly 
endowed, this university is broadly and ambitiously 
planned, and is open to both sexes in all depart- 
ments. The damage done by the '06 earthquake 
is being repaired. 

Hard by, at Menlo Park, is the Stanford horse 
breeding and training establishment, where hun- 
dreds of thoroughbreds are carefully tended in 
paddock and stable, and daily trained. Even one 
who is not a lover of horses, if such a person exists, 
cannot fail to find entertainment here, where daily 
every phase of equine training is exhibited, from the 
kindergarten, where toddling colts are taught the 
habit of the track, to the open course, where 
famous racers are speeded. 

A PACIFIC TOUR. 

Along the great San Francisco water front, with 
its masts and spars, flapping sails and ship chan- 
dlery stores, the very spirit of roving and adventure 
is in the air. A stroll here will impress the visitor 
with the city's wonderful future possibilities. 
The dream that along San Francisco Bay 
will be built a world-city bids 
fair to become a reality. 




Here one may ooserve the big four-masters, laden 
with wheat brought around Cape Horn. A rakish 
brig unloads a cargo of copra and sandalwood, which 
tells of the scented groves of south Pacific islands. 
Over yonder are big bunkers, with sooty workmen 
and busy engines, straining at coal buckets. Farther 
on is a party of gold-seekers, bound for the Alaskan 
fields. Other steamers are taking on passengers and 
freight for lower California, Panama and Mexico, or 
for the far.-ofif countries of the Orient. Japanese, 
Chinese and Koreans mingle with the throng. 
A patriotic bit of color is displayed where soldiers 
just back from the Philippines are disembarking. 
And when evening comes on the deep-sea chants 
rise above the city's roar as anchors are lifted. 
One then keenly feels the call of the sea. The 
genius of Stevenson has woven a halo of romance 
over these semi-tropical seas that woos the traveler 
with well-nigh irresistible charm. As you look 
westward out of the nation's front door from the 
Cliff House headland height, it would be strange, 
indeed, if you were not seized with a longing to 
set sail. 

Where will you go — since go you must ? 

To Hawaii ? Magical isles, wreathed in flowers 
and laved by flashing summer seas ; land of banana 




plantations, cane and rice fields ; land of roaring 
volcanoes and verdant plains. 

To Samoa ? Coral shores under the Stars and 
Stripes ; happy natives, cocoanut palms and deli- 
cious tropical fruit, transparent seas and beautiful 
shells. 

To Tahiti ? Riotous vegetation, the supple 
bamboo, broad-leaved banana and lance-leaved 
mango ; an out-of-doors country, where houses are 
used only to sleep in. 

To New Zealand ? Newest England, as it has 
been fittingly called ; half round the world, but 
nearer than man}^ of you have thought ; the famous 
west coast sounds, rivaling the fiords of Norway. 

To Australia ? A partly explored continent of 
vast and varied resources ; wonderful cities, strange 
races, and strange flora and fauna, kangaroos and 
paroquets, cockatoos and pouched bears. 

Which one, or all of them ? 

It can not be decided for you here. Indeed, the 
purpose of these brief pages is only suggestive, to 
point the way and tell you of the excellent facilities 
for travel. Other publications will tell you more in 
detail of the attractions, and they may be had for 
the asking from agents of the Santa Fe. One 
rare trip outlined therein is around the world via 
San Francisco, Hawaii, Samoa, New Zealand, Aus- 
tralian ports, India, Suez, the Mediterranean, 
Continental Europe, England, Atlantic liners, and 
United States railways. 

Commerce, politics and travel have joined to 
i8g 



justify the superb fleet of steamships maintained 
by the American and Australian (Oceanic Steam- 
ship) Line, which are in service between San 
Francisco and Honolulu, between San Francisco, 
New Zealand and Australia, and between San 
Francisco and Tahiti. The boats used favorably 
compare with the finest Atlantic steamers. They 
are of 6,ooo tons burden, with twin screws, the 
fastest, largest, and most luxurious steamers in the 
Pacific trade. Their two sets of triple-expansion 
engines develop power which makes possible a 
speed of more than seventeen knots an hour. They 
are of the latest type, having double bottoms on the 
cellular system, water-tight compartments, electric 
lights, commodious deck space, ice machinery, 
dining saloon on upper deck, and other modern 
conveniences. These ships are specially fitted for 
tropical voyaging, with large and well-ventilated 
cabins, and service that will please the most exacting. 

The present schedule of the New Zealand and 
Australian boats is rather irregular; inquire of Santa 
Fe agent as to exact sailing dates. 

Luxurious steamers of the Pacific Mail, Occi- 
dental & Oriental and Toyo Kisen Kaisha lines 
may be taken from San Francisco on a straight- 
away cruise to Yokohama, and thence to Hong- 
Kong. By this route both China and Japan may 
be visited, including a run down to our new pos- 
sessions in the Philippines. The service is all that 
could be desired, the steamers all being swift, com- 
modious and seaworthy. 




COAST LINE TO SAN FRANCISCO. 

The coast route northward from Los Angeles 
by rail has many notable attractions, chief of which 
are Santa Barbara (page 157), Monterey and 
San Jose. The two last named may be conve- 
niently visited by a short ride from San Francisco 
and the first from Los Angeles. 

The traveler who elects to follow the coast in 
his journey to the Golden Gate will be taken 
northward and then west to the sea at San Buena 
Ventura. On the way San Fernando (near which 
are the ruins of the San Fernando Mission) is 
passed and a considerable oil district in the vicinity 
of Newhall and Santa Paula ; also Oxnard and its 
big beet sugar factory. 

At San Buena Ventura is another mission estab- 
lishment surrounded by luxuriant orchards of 
deciduous fruits and vast bean fields, the product 
of which reaches the far-away "Hub" on the 
Atlantic. 

Beyond San Buena Ventura the winding coast 
line is closely followed for a hundred miles or more 
to' and through Santa Barbara, until crossing the 
mountains it leads down into the Salinas Valley, a 
mountain-walled, oak-dotted park, the northern 
end of which merges in the far-famed Santa Clara 
Valley of the north. 

From the gray-brown blufifs and rounded hills, 
for the hundred or so miles by the sea, but little 
190 



hint is given of th^ fertile interior ; but a continu- 
ous marine panorama of wave-washed shore is 
unfolded, with a far-reaching ocean view bounded 
by the Channel Islands. 

Wayside items are the asphaltum pits and ocean 
oil-wells at Summerland, the mammoth eucalyptus 
trees and great olive orchards at Ellwood in the 
Goleta Valley, the asphaltum works at Alcatraz 
Landing, and the mouth of historic Gaviota Pass, 
There are picturesque ranch houses of the old 
days, also herds of grazing cattle and sheep, vast 
fields of grain and mustard and sugar beets, the 
largest vegetable and flower seed farms in the 
world, and many other features, each adding inter- 
est to the journey, but which must be considered 
minor attractions where so much is worthy. 

San Luis Obispo is a city of four thousand popu- 
lation, the business center of a rich valley. The 
mountains overshadow it. The church of the old 
mission of San Luis Obispo is here. 

Northward from San Luis a climb over a spur of 
the Santa Lucia Mountains, with numerous curves 
in the track, presents from the car window a bird's- 
eye view of the city and fertile valley in which it 
lies. 

Paso Robles (pass of the oaks) is a place of 
wonderful mineral springs with a fine hotel and 
bath houses. Not far away is Santa Ysabel ranch, 
and Hot Springs. Salinas is a town of growing 
importance. Near it is the great Spreckels beet 
sugar factory, one of the largest in the world. 



Paso Robles 
Hotel. 



'<ra^% 









.-^ 



A slight divergence from the main line at Cas- 
troville will bring you to Hotel del Monte and the 
famous old town of Monterey, on the southern 
shore of Monterey Bay. 

Monterey was the old capital of California in the 
earliest period of Spanish rule. Here the forest 
crowds upon the sea and mingles its odor of balm 
with that of the brine. The beach that divides 
them is broken by cliffs where the cypress finds 
footing to flaunt its rugged boughs above the spray 
of the waves, and in the gentle air of a perfect cli- 
mate the wild flowers hold almost perpetual carni- 
val. Upon such a foundation the Hotel del 
Monte, with its vast parks of lawn and garden and 
driveway, covering many hundred acres, is set, all 
its magnificence lending really less than it owes 
to the infinite charm of Monterey. Its fame has 
spread through every civilized land, and European 
as w,e\\ as American visitors make up its throng. 
The hotel is located in a scattering grove of 
200 acres, a little east from the town, and for lav- 
ishness of luxury and splendor in construction and 
accessory has perhaps no superior. The specific 
points of interest are Carmel Mission, Pacific Grove, 
Moss Beach, Seal Rocks, and Cypress Point. 

The pretty city of Santa Cruz at the northern 
end of Monterey Bay is reached from Del Monte 
by a railway along the shore. It is also reached 
direct from San Francisco by a line crossing the 
beautiful Santa Cruz Mountains and passing 
through the big trees (Sequoia semper virens). 
192 



It is San Francisco's most popular'seaside resort 
as well as a notable summering and wintering 
place for many eastern people. There are good 
hotels and ample facilities for enjoying the pleas- 
ures of the sea. 

An interesting industry of the place is the exca- 
vation of asphalt from a small mountain of the 
almost pure material. 

By the main line again toward San Francisco 
from Castroville one comes upon San Jose, the 
Garden City, at the junction of the narrow gauge 
line to Santa Cruz. The appellation Garden City 
may be taken literally, for besides its urban beau- 
ties, it lies in the center of the largest compact 
orchard area in the world. 

Perhaps there is not, in the whole of Northern 
California, a town more attractively environed. It 
is protected by mountain walls from every wander- 
ing asperity of land or sea, a clean, regularly plat- 
ted city, reaching o& through avenues of pine and 
of eucalyptus, and through orchards and vineyards, 
to pretty forest slopes where roads climb past rock, 
glen and rivulet to fair, commanding heights. The 
immediate neighborhood is the center of prune 
production, and every year exports great quantities 
of berries, fruits and wines. The largest seed- 
farms and the largest herd of short-horned cattle 
in the world are here. 

Twenty-six miles east from San Jose is Mount 
Hamilton, upon whose summit the white wall of 
the Lick Observatory is plainly visible at that 
193 



distance. This observatory has already 
become celebrated for the discovery 
of Jupiter's fifth satellite, and gives 
promise of affording many another /v^'*"^ ' 

astronomical sensation in time to come. Visitors 
are permitted to look through the great telescope one 
night in the week, and in the intervals a smaller 
glass sufficiently pow^erful to yield a good view of 
the planets in the broad sunlight of midday is 
devoted to their entertainment. It is reached by 
stage from San Jose, the round trip being made 
daily. Aside from the attraction of the famous 
sky-glass, supplemented by the multitudinous and 
elaborate mechanisms of the observatory, the ride 
through the mountains to Mount Hamilton more 
than compensates the small fatigue of the journey. 
There are backward glimpses of the beautiful val- 
ley, and a changing panorama of the Sierra, the road 
making loops and turns in the shadow of live-oaks 
on the brink of profound craterlike depressions. 

The remainder of the coast-line trip to the 
Golden Gate has already received brief mention 
under title of Suburban San Francisco. 




YOSEMITE VALLEY. 

The high Sierras have been termed the American 
Alps, and merit the appellation. Here are snowy 
peaks that meet the sky along a thousand miles of 
the California border, and, crowning all, Mount 
Whitney, the loftiest 
peak in the United 
States. 





There are in this Sierra region mighty evergreen 
forests, groves of the greatest and grandest trees in 
the v^orld, the Canyons of Kings and Kern Rivers, 
Lassen Buttes, the Minarets, and numerous other 
wonders. Not a mile of the gigantic mountain 
ridge but is replete w^ith interest. Among them 
all, however, Yosemite is the best known and per- 
haps the most satisfying, as it is the most easily 
accessible. It lies due east of San Francisco, at an 
elevation of 4,000 feet, and is reached from Merced 
(a prosperous town on the Santa Fe in the San 
Joaquin Valley); thence by the newly constructed 
Yosemite Valley R. R. to the boundary line of 
Yosemite Park, ending with a short and enjoyable 
stage ride. The way is by Merced Falls and Pleas- 
ant Valley up the picturesque Canyon of the Mer 
ced River and near the old-time mining town of 
Coulterville. The entire trip may be made in 
about half a day, when the railroad service is 
perfected. 

En route to Yosemite the big tree grove may 

be visited. The monster trees are from 25 to 30 

feet in diameter at base and are of fabulous age — 

quite the oldest living things on earth's crust. And 

j^A N there is nothing finer in the Black Forest 

^^fe^ of Germany than the great sugar pines near 

lj?.ff V^^ Hazel Green. The valley itself does not 

\ij^'y>^S disappoint. The floor is a parklike tract 

T W^ . m about eight miles long by half a mile to a 

mile wide. The Merced River frolics 

way through this mountain glade 

196 



and around it rise imperious walls 
thousands of feet high. 

As you enter, mighty El Capitan 
rears its monumental form 3,200 
feet at your right. It is a solid 
mass of granite, taller than the 
valley is wide at this point and 
presenting two perpendicular 
faces. On the other hand Bridal 
Veil Fall is flinging cascades of 
lacelike delicacy from a height of 
950 feet, and in the far distance 
you catch a glimpse of the famed 
Half Dome, Washington Columns 
and the crests of the highest peaks 
in the range. 

The road leads on beyond 
Cathedral Spires, Three Brothers 
and Sentinel Rock, the valley 
widens and Yosemite Falls appear, 
wnth the Sentinel Hotel and the 
little village at the stage terminus, 
midway between the falls and Glacier Point opposite. 

Beyond Glacier Point the valley angles sharply, 
and in the recess thus formed Vernal, Nevada, and 
Illiloutte Falls, Liberty Cap and Mount Broderick 
are located, but are not visible from the hotel. 

Looking east, Half Dome presents an almost per- 
pendicular wall ; at its base is Mirror Lake, and, 
opposite. North Dome and Washington Arches. 
The peak of Half Dome is 4,737 feet above 
197 







Yosemite Falls. 



the valley floor, and 8,737 ^^^^ above 
the sea. 

The accessibility of Yosemite and 
the comparative ease with which it may 
be explored, add greatly to the enjoy- 
ment of a visit. The hotel is well 
managed and the charges reasonable. 

The best time to go is in May and 
June, when there is no dust and the falls 
are full of water. The tourist season 
usually begins the middle of April and 
lasts until October, though one may go 
in both earlier and later if desired. In 
midwinter the snowfall is quite heavy. 

There are excellent public camps, or you may 
bring your own outfit and pitch tent almost any- 
where, with reasonable limitations. There are tele- 
phone and telegraph facilities, a general store and a 
postoffice with daily mail. The custodian of the 
valley resides here. The roads and trails have been 
constructed by and have heretofore been kept in re- 
pair by the State. Charges for guides, carriages, sad- 
dle animals, etc., are regulated by a commission, and 
there are no tolls. The entire Yosemite National 
Park is now under control of the United States 
Government. You may visit both the base and lip 
of Nevada Falls, poise in mid-air from the over- 
hanging rock at Glacier Point, gaze 4,000 feet below 
from a parapet of Three Brothers or off to the 
wilderness of peaks that lose themselves in the sky 
to the eastward ; or you may pitch pebbles into 
the gushing torrent of Yosemite Falls, where it 
makes its dizzy leap over the cliff. 
199 





The glory of Yosemite has passed into Htera- 
ture. It lends to word-painting as do but few 
of Nature's masterpieces. Yet all the pens 
that have essayed to describe it can have con- 
veyed to you but little of its charm unless 
you have visited the wonderful valley. Only for 
those who have seen can the name conjure up 
visions of a waterfall of filmy tracery that bends 
and sways in the breeze, of a gigantic cliff that 
stands at the portal a colossal greeting and fare- 
well, of another fall whose waters plunge from a 
far height half a mile above you. 

It were idle to enumerate. No single feature 
wins admiration. It is the harmonious whole, 
blending majesty with color, form and action, that 
woos all bur senses with siren touch. It is not a 
matter of height or breadth or mere bigness. The 
Grand Canyon of Arizona outclasses Yosemite a 
hundred times over in greatness and other-world- 
ness. But here Nature is truly feminine ; she is 
tender, gracious and becomingly gowned ; she puts 
on little airs ; she is in the mood for comradeship. 
For here are found song birds, gorgeous wild flowers, 
rippling streams, grassy parks and 
bowers of shrubbery and ferns. 
These, quite as much as the bee- 
tling crag or stupendous waterfall, 
are the secret of Yosemite's hold 
on the imagination. It is this sense 
of the supremely beautiful incar- 
nated which makes Yosemite the 
desire of all travelers. 



El C apt tan. 



SPANISH NAMES, THEIR MEANING AND 
PRONUNCIATION. 

Name. Meaning. Pronunciation. 

Adobe, sun-dried brick Ah-do'-bay. 

Alameda, shady walk (from 

dlamos, poplars) Ah-lah-may^-dah. 

Alamitos, small cottonwoods. Ah-lah-mee'-tos. 

Alcatraz, pelican Al-cah-trahs''. (In Mexico z 

* is pronounced like double j, 

in Spain like th in think). 

Albuquerque Ahl-boo-ker^-kay. 

Alejandro, Alexander Ah-lay-hahn''-dr6. 

Almaden, mine Al-mah-den^. 

Alvarado, Spanish explorer . . Ahl-vah-rah''-do, 

Amador, lover Ah-mah-dor''. 

Anita, Anna Ah-nee''-tah. 

Antonio, Anthony An-to''-nee-6. 

Arroyo Seco, dry ravine Ar-row^y6 Say''-co (with the r 

strongly trilled). 

Bernalillo, little Bernal Behr-nal-eeK-yo. 

Bernardino, little Bernard . . .Behr-nahr-dee'-no. 

Boca, mouth Bo''-cah. 

Bonita, pretty Bo-nee^tah. 

Buena Vista, good view Bway''-nah Vees'-tah. 

Cajon, large chest or box Cah-hon'. 

Calaveras, skulls Cah-lah-vay^-rahs. 

Caliente, hot ... » Cah-lee-en''-tay. 

Campo, country or field Cahm^-po. 

Canyon Diablo, Devil Canyon. Cahn-yon'' Dee-ah-'-blo. 
Capistrano, named from an 

Indian saint Cah-pees-trah^-no. 

Carlos, Charles Car^-los. 

20 1 



Name. Meaning. ^ Pronunciation. 

Carmencita, little Carmen . . .Car-men-^ee^-tah. 

Casa Blanca, white house Cah^-sah Blahn^-ca. 

Centinela, sentinel Sen-tee-nay-^lah. 

Cerrillos, little hills Ser-reeK-y6s. 

Chico, small Chee'-ko. 

Cienaga, marsh See-en'ah-gah. 

Colorado, red Ko-lo-rah'-do. 

Conejo, rabbit K(3-nay^-ho. 

Contra Costa, opposite coast . Kon^-trah Kos^-tah. 

Coronado, crowned (named for 
explorer) Ko-r6-nah'-do. 

Corral, enclosure Kor-rahK. 

Corralitos, small enclosures . .Kor-rahk-ee''-tos. 

Covina, small cane Ko-vee'-nah. 

Coyote, prairie wolf. Ko-yo'-tay. 

Del Norte, of the north Del Nor'-tay. 

Del Sur, of the south Del Soor^ 

Dos Palmas, two palms Dos PahK-mahs. 

El Cajon, the large box El Kah-hon^. 

El Capitan, the captain El Kah-pee-tahn^. 

El Dorado, the gilded .El Do-rah^-d5. 

El Monte, the hill El Mon^-tay. 

El Morro, the castle El M6r^-ro. 

El Paso, the pass El Pah^-so. 

El Torro, the bull El To^-ro. 

Encinitas, evergreen oaks En-see-neeMas. 

Escondido, hidden Es-con-di''-do. 

Estrella, star Es-treK-ya. 

Farallones, small islands, high, 
rough and difficult of ac- 
cess Fah''-rahl-yon'^-es. 

Fresno, ash tree Fres^-no. 

Galisteo, a name Gah-lis-tay^-o. 

Garbanza, wild pea Gar-ban^-thah. 

Graciosa, graceful Grah-see-o''-sah. 

Guadalupe, a name Gwah-dah-loo-'-pay. 

202 



Name. Meaning. Pronunciation. 

Hermosillo, little beauty Er-mo-seeK-yo. 

Isleta, little island .ees-lay'-ta. 

La Canada, the valley, glen..Lah Cah-nah^-dah. 

Laguna, lagoon, pond Lah-goo-'-nah. 

La Joya, the jewel Lah Ho''-yah. 

La Junta, the junction Lah Hun-'-tah. 

La Mesa, the table-land Lah May''-sah, 

La Punta, the point Lah Pun^-tah. 

Las Animas, souls in purga- 
tory Las Ah-'-nee-mahs. 

Las Cruces, the crosses Las Crew''-ses. 

Las Flores, the flowers Las Flo''-res. 

Las Vegas, fertile fields Las Vay^-gahs. 

Lerdo, slow •. .Ler''-do. 

Linda Vista, beautiful view . .Leen^-dah Vis^-tah. 

Loma Alta, high hill Lo^-mah AhK-tah. 

Loma Prieta, black hill Lo-'-mah Pree-a^-tah. 

Los Alamitos, little cotton- 
woods Los Ah-lah-mee^-tos. 

Los Alamos, cotton wood 

trees. Los Ah^-lah-mos. 

Los Gatos, the cats Los Gah-'-tos. 

Los Nietos, the grandchildren. Los Nee-a-'-tos. 

Los Olivos, the olive trees Los 6-lee''-vos. 

Madera, timber wood Mah-day^-rah. 

Manzana, apple Mahn-thah''-nah. 

Merced, mercy Mer-sed''. 

Mesa, table, table-land May^-sah. 

Mesa Encantada, enchanted 

land May-'-sah En-kan-tah^-dah. 

Mesquite, tree of that name . . Mes-quee''-tay. 

Montecito, little hill Mon-tay-see^-to. 

Morro, tower or fortification. .Mor-'-ro (r strongly trilled) . 

Nacion, nation . Nah-see-on^. 

Nuevo, new Nway^-vo. 

Pajaro, bird Pah^-hah^-ro. 

203 



Name. Meaning. Pronunciation. 

Pampa, plain Pahm''-pah. 

Paso de Robles, pass of the 

oaks Pah''-so day Ro''-bles. 

Picacho, peak Pee-kah^-cho. 

Pinde, sweetened corn water. .Peen-'-day. 

Plumas, feathers Ploo^-mahs. 

Presidio, garrison Pray-see''-dee-o. 

Pueblo, village Pway^-blo. 

Puente, bridge Pwen-'-tay. 

Puerco, a hog, hence unclean. Pwer^-co. 

Punta Gorda, thick point Poon-'-tah Gor''-dah. 

Purgatoire, Purgatorio, pur- 
gatory Poor-gah-to''-rio. 

Ranchito, small ranch Rahn-chee''-to. 

Raton," mouse Rah-ton''. 

Redondo, round Ray-d6n''-do. 

Rincon, corner Rin-kon''. 

Rio, river Ree''-6. 

Rivera, shore ..Ree-vay^-rah. 

Sacramento, sacrament Sah-krah-men'-to. 

Salinas, salt pits Sah-lee^-nahs. ' 

San Andres, St. Andrew Sahn Ahn-dres''. 

San Buena Ventura, St. Bon- 

aventure (good fortune) Sahn Bway''-nah ven-too'-rah. 

San Clemente, St. Clement ..Sahn Klay-men^-tay. 

San Diego, St. James Sahn Dee-ay^'-go. 

San Francisco, St. Francis. . .Sahn Fran-sees''-ko. 

San Jacinto, St. Hyacinth Sahn Hah-seen^-to. 

San Joaquin, St. Joachin Sahn Hwah-keen''. 

San Jose, St. Joseph Sahn Ho-say''. 

San Luis Obispo, St. Louis the 

bishop Sahn Loo-ees'' O-bees^'-po. 

San Miguel, St. Michael Sahn Mee-gelK (hard g.) 

San Pablo, St. Paul Sahn Pah^-blo. 

San Pedro, St. Peter Sahn Pay^-dr5. 

San Rafael, St. Raphael Sahn Rah-fah-elK., 

204 



Name. Meaning. Pronunciation. 

Santa Barbara, St. Barbara. .Sahn^-tah Bar^-bah-rah. 

Santa Catalina, St. Catherine. Sahn^-tah Cah-tah-lee^-nah. 

Santa Cruz, holy cross Sahn^-tah Krooss^. 

Santa Fe, holy faith SahnMah Fay'. 

Santa Rosa, St. Rose Sahn'-tah Ro'-sah, 

Santa Ynez, St. Inez Sahn'-tah E-ne'ss. 

Santa Isabel, St. Isabel Sahn'-tah E-sah-belK. 

Saucilito, little willow Sau-see-lee'-t5. 

Savana, vast plain (Sabana) .Sah'-bah-nah. 

Sierra, mountain chain See-er'-rah. 

Sierra Madre, mountain range 

literally mother range See-er'-rah mah'-dre. 

Sierra Nevada, snowy range 

(saw-tooth) See-er'-rah Nay-vah'dah. 

Soledad, solitude So-lay-dad'' {d in Spanish has 

a peculiarly soft sound like 
ih in the.) 
Tamalpais, Tamal Indians . .Tah-mahl-pais. 

Temecula, Indian name Tay-may-coo''-lah. 

Tia Juana, Aunt Jane Tee'-ah Hwah'-na. 

Valle, valley VahK-yay. 

Vallecito, little valley Vahl-yay-see''-to. 

Vallejo, small valley VahKyay'-ho. 

Ventura, luck Ven-too''-rah. 

Verde, green Ver'-day. 

Viejo, old Vee-ay'-ho. 

Vista, view VeesMah. 



205 




THE KENRY 0. SHEPARD CO., PRINTERS, CHICAGO. 



MAY 30 190? 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




014 754 987 8 




